Arkham Madder
by FalconHorror
Summary: Rose doesn't want to face her unspeakable fears. Crane will make her. But Norman has other plans. What happens when they collide with Arkham's other demented souls? B. Begins & Rose Madder [S. King novel] crossover.
1. A Rose for Crane

_**Arkham Madder**_

_A Rose for Crane_

I've been itching to write something like this for awhile. It's a Batman Begins crossover with the Stephen King novel, _Rose Madder_.

For those of you who don't know, the book is about a battered woman's redemption & sweet revenge against her truly demented, abusive husband. I won't say anything else _here _to spoil it if you'd like to read it. However, this story contains plots and excerpts from the novel integrated with my own plotline. I'll not say exactly what is from the book, but this contains various spoilers scattered throughout. If you haven't read it you won't know what they are.

For those of you who are familiar with the novel: there will be Norman; _lots_ of sordid Norman & equal amounts of sordid Crane.

Crane vs. Norman? If so, who will win?

Warning: Obviously this contains violence (though I won't be too graphic—I want to keep this rated 'T') and mentions of abuse.

Disclaimer: Must I say that I own nothing of Batman Begins or any S.K. novel?

* * *

Chestnut brown hair fell over lowered eyes as the still figure sat before him on the plastic chair. Her slight form was rigid beneath the pale blue, Arkham- issued apparel. Her lips were slightly parted and her bruised hands were clasped gently on the table in front of her. Her left wrist was wrapped in stark white bandages which had been carefully secured with surgical tape.

Dr. Jonathan Crane's imperturbable azure eyes regarded her impassively from behind square- framed glasses. He glanced at her wrist and then back up at her despondent face.

"Rose?" His voice was patient and serene. It was imperative for her to feel comfortable with the people around her. She needed to feel safe or she wouldn't respond. Crane knew this much from the little that had been in her file.

She had been admitted yesterday evening. She had come to Gotham by train and was found collapsed in the ladies' restroom. She had come to the asylum straight from Gotham County General Hospital. She had no identification and no family in Gotham. She didn't remember from where she came. All she knew was her first name. The list of injuries submitted by the doctors indicated to Crane that she was severely traumatized. He would need to take his time with her.

"Rose?" he repeated. A few seconds past and he saw her eyelashes flutter upwards as she looked at him with greyish- blue eyes that were filled with shock, misery and something else which dominated the former two, something which dominated her entire disposition: fear. It would not be detectable by the medical doctors who had attended to her, but Crane was supremely skilled in sensing it even in the minutest amounts. This woman was deathly afraid. But of what?

"You're safe here; you're in Arkham Asylum in Gotham City." He paused. When she showed no sign of recognition in her eyes he continued. "I'm Dr. Crane. I'm here to help you with whatever's bothering you."

Again there was no response, just her watery gaze which hovered between his face and the table. Her hair fell forward, partially obscuring her pallid face. Crane leaned forward slowly and placed his hands in a similar position to hers' on the table.

"Do you think that you can speak to me right now?" His voice was gentle but neutral. She would undoubtedly be paranoid about accepting comfort from strangers. It would be a painstaking process to gain her trust but he would eventually have it. He saw her throat move as she swallowed. He waited patiently. Her eyes swept back to his face once more and her parched lips moved soundlessly, pressing together and then opening slightly as she took faint, shuddering breaths.

"If you can't just go back to your bed and lie down. You don't have to say anything. I'll return when you've gotten some rest and you're ready to talk."

There was a lengthy pause and she nodded.

"I can speak…now." Her voice was weak and hoarse, but steady.

"That's very good, but you're not feeling very well so I won't take long. Alright?"

She nodded again, this time without any pause.

"Are you feeling better than when you were in the hospital?" There would be only impartial questions for now.

"Yes," she croaked.

"Good. The nurse will give you something for that sore throat before you sleep. Did you sleep well last night?"

A tape recorder was running in his pocket, hidden from her eyes. He wanted the first session to go smoothly and that would be less likely if she felt that she was being evaluated like a subject. Besides, he knew it would be a short session. He could not allow her to exert herself in her condition; it would reduce his chances of effective communication in the future.

"Yes," she repeated.

Crane knew it was a lie but it didn't bother him; she would tell the truth in subsequent meetings when she began to respond to his therapy.

"I'm glad to hear that. It's important that you obtain sufficient rest to recover. You've spent some time in the hospital. Do you remember why?"

She hesitated then nodded faintly. He could now see the stirrings of anxiety in her eyes. He would need to thread carefully now.

"Well, this isn't a hospital but you can recover just as nicely here. You'll be able to relax, rest in peace and have some time to yourself. No one will bother you."

He saw her agitation at his last sentence and began to concoct a series of plausible theories on the circumstances that led her to Gotham.

"You're safe here, Rose. It's important you know that. I'm the director of this facility and you have my assurance that we take the well- being of our patients very seriously. Arkham is heavily guarded on both the outside and inside. There are security cameras all over the premises. You needn't waste time worrying about that."

She was now casting nervous glances at her surroundings. Something suddenly occurred to Crane.

"Rose?"

She looked at him, her entire face now filled with emotion as she tried to maintain her composure.

"If it makes you feel better you should know that you have the option of refusing visitors."

He paused and watched as understanding bloom vaguely in her troubled eyes. He was on the right track; what she desperately craved for at this moment was safety. Something, or perhaps more accurately someone, was responsible for her current situation. She had come to Gotham to escape. She needed to be protected.

"You don't have to see anyone. It's your choice. Alright?"

She nodded, and he could see her distress begin to ease. He decided to reinforce the point in order to gain her complete faith that she wouldn't be harmed.

"We're not going to let anyone you feel uncomfortable with have any sort of access to you. When you're not in your room you'll be in the company of other patients, orderlies and nurses. You'll be safe at all times." She was now gazing at him with tentative hope; she wanted to believe him. He leaned closer so she could see his sincerity to help her.

"Would you like me to request that you have no visitors? I can send a memo to all staff members. We'll refuse anyone who insists on seeing you. Or would you prefer if I didn't? Do you have relatives that might want to see you?"

She shook her head and Crane could see the relief in her eyes; she believed him.

"N-no, I don't. I…" She sighed. "I don't want any visitors, please." Her voice was pleading with him.

"Of course," he answered her immediately. "If it makes you comfortable then I'll attend to it as soon as I get back to my office. Is there anything else?"

"No." He could see the relief and gratitude in her eyes.

"Alright, then. I think I'll leave you to rest for now. The orderly will bring you lunch soon. Try to relax and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

She nodded at him again and slowly got up. She went to the small bed and lay down facing the wall. Her movements were delicate, evidence of her recent ordeal and its' result on her body. Crane rose and walked to the door. He turned and observed her quiet outline, broken by only the slight rise of her breathing.

He was elated with their first meeting. She had allowed him a small but significant privilege: knowledge that she required protection from an entity outside the walls of Arkham. One which had invoked astounding fear in her. He presently was unaware of its' nature, but he could perceive it in her entire countenance. Soon, he was certain that she would relent. After all, he comprehended people's fears better than they did themselves. He would subtly illustrate to her the ways of fear; in her condition she would unknowingly welcome it. Her subconscious was echoing her fears at this very moment. She would confront them eventually and in doing so, would reveal the secret atrocity that had led her here.

He had obtained more from her than he'd expected. His mind was already racing with the possibilities of how their later meetings could be approached. She _would_ respond to him; he had given her what was probably her first feeling of real security in a long while, as well as comfort. He now had an abundance of angles to consider. Most importantly, he had that one little piece of information from her file that he would use when the time was right. That one name she had uttered when she was found by strangers, semi- delirious from the blood loss. Crane remembered it well, as he knew she would.

Norman.

He turned and exited the room.

* * *

A/N: I hoped everyone enjoyed that. It's so short b/c it's just an introduction. There'll be more in other chapters.

Leave a word on what you think: errors, suggestions etc. Thanks for reading.

FalconHorror


	2. Tame Beginning

_**Arkham Madder**_

_Tame Beginning_

Thanks to **MsBrooklyn**, **Datura** & **P'tfami** for reviewing my first chapter, as well as everyone else who read.

Let me just say that I'm not a fan girl & I have no intention of portraying Crane as innocent in this story. However, as he is known to be one of the gentler villains (compared to the homicidal ones) I will depict him as such. This is rather pre- Batman Begins & during progress of B. Begins as well, so it's a bit AU. I'll use characters from the movie & comics.

As for Norman, well, he remains Norman…you know, a complete lunatic. It will be up to you the readers to decide if he's crazier than Crane, pun not intended.

Disclaimer: As before: I still own nothing.

* * *

_That filthy bitch. I'll kill her. _

Norman stood staring unbelievably at the open closet in the empty bedroom, his anger skyrocketing to phenomenal levels by the minute. His tan face was contorted just slightly, but his eyes held a rage that was roaring to be released. His neck muscles were strained to the point where his veins stood out against his skin. They extended like snakes along the length of his arms from his tightly clenched, sizable fists. His breathing came in fast, shallow spurts that whistled lowly from his taut jaw.

He was furious.

Though he had always suspected, in the back of his mind, that she thought of doing something like this, he was supremely confident that she would never _actually attempt_ it. He was aware of her respect for him; he saw it every day in her pathetic eyes, the timid way in which she moved, the resignation in her voice, the submission in her actions. He knew that he was lodged in her mind so firmly that all her thoughts were governed by him, that she could no longer think for herself without _his_ consent and that his presence was not even required to remind her that she would always need it, just the mere memory of him. She was locked away in a place in his watchful mind and only he had the key. There was no other logical manner in which she could escape; as long as _he _willed it, she would always be here.

Which was why it was extremely surprising that, at present, she wasn't.

He had been unwilling at first to believe it, even as his intuition, something that he had always relied upon, told him otherwise. Nevertheless, after leaving the morons at the hospital he went to all the usual places she might have been, knowing that his efforts were futile. Why the hell would she need to take a trip to the damned supermarket now? He doubted that she would have been able to move very far in her condition. Well, apparently she had moved even further than that.

What enraged him more than anything else, though, was that she had actually _thought_ about what she was doing before she did it…his emergency stash of money was missing from the hidden alcove in the closet.

That worthless bitch had planned this. She had dared to disobey him.

But she would pay for it…oh, yes; she would pay for it dearly. Just as soon as he could find her.

This brought on a fresh wave of fury that caused him to grit his teeth and stalk out of the bedroom. She could be anywhere, but he was positive she had left town. She would want to get away as far away from him as possible, thinking that she would be safe in another place.

_But you should know I'll find you, Rose. And when I do_….

However, he would need to find out where she had run off…and that would take a considerable amount of luck on his part, unless he wanted to spend the next year tracking her down.

He spotted the line of pansy ceramics that she had collected over the years. He walked up to where they were lined up on the fireplace and with a sweep of his hand sent them all crashing down to the floor. He grabbed the large, broken pieces in both of his fists and slammed them repeatedly against the wall, driving tiny shards of ceramic into his palms. When the sharp sting of pain finally overcame his pulsating anger, he stopped, panting slightly. He looked down at his hands and saw trickles of blood intermingled with his sweat. After a few minutes, he smiled.

That was what he needed to purge himself of this astounding rage brought on by her unexpected disloyalty; her blood. Only then would he be satisfied…and only then would she truly know her place.

Norman exhaled, now considerably calmer. He began to think.…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Gotham City Police Department _

Sergeant Jim Gordon frowned as he studied the mug shot before him. The man was a well- seasoned criminal, a typical waste product of Gotham's underworld. He had finally been apprehended, but not before he had created a heavy record for himself; armed robbery, homicide, kidnapping, assault, premeditated murder…the list went on.

When he had been interrogated yesterday, he had not been as forthcoming about his victims or his suspected crimes, although he seemed to relish in describing certain details of the murders he had committed.

What was particularly disturbing to Gordon, however, was the manner in which he described them. Throughout the entire episode, he had rarely ceased laughing in a maniacal way that made Gordon uneasy. He could see him now through the window of the interrogation room, sitting and chuckling to himself whilst he played with a deck of cards that consisted entirely of jokers. His testimony was filled with eloquent prose about 'humorous death' and other metaphorical rants that no one had been able to understand.

Gordon ultimately decided that he would need to consult one of Gotham's experts on the criminally insane. The first person that came to mind was the young assistant director of the asylum in The Narrows. He stood and went off to his office to call Dr. Crane. Before he left, he glanced into the one-way window that separated the adjoining room; the man was staring through it with a grin frozen on his pale face. Although he knew better, Gordon could have sworn that he eerily seemed to be looking straight at him.…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Arkham Asylum, The Narrows, Gotham City_

A swift punch to her stomach came almost immediately after the slap to her face rocked back her head. She gasped loudly, unable to scream out of fear of him and for her unborn child. She collapsed to the floor in hot waves of pain that ripped across her swollen stomach. She clutched at it and tried as best as she could to stifle her cries. She saw his shadow move over the floor to where she sat, darkening the brown, polished wood.

Suddenly, she could feel movement inside of her…something that was protesting the brutal assault to her body…something that could not survive. She looked down and saw it…a liquid pool that hovered just beneath her skirt before it slid out across the smooth floor. She held her breath, dreading to see its colour when it came out into the light, but then it came and it was—

Rose's eyes flew open and before she could stop herself she screamed and bolted up in her bed.

Outside, in the suicide watch monitoring room of the asylum, an orderly spotted a disturbance. Although her scream had been low compared to the other sounds he frequently heard on his shift, he rose from his seat and left the other orderlies in the room. He soon reached the room of the female patient that had recently been admitted. Dr. Crane had given specific orders that she was to be watched very carefully. He peered into the semi-dark room and saw that she was casting wild glances around the room. He quickly unlocked the door and went up to where she sat.

"Ma'am?" He spoke gently and soothingly.

Rose seemed to realize his presence and after staring at his face, appeared to relax, although her eyes remained cautious and fearful.

"You're okay. You're in Arkham Asylum…you're safe here, alright?" He slowly repeated the words Dr. Crane had instructed them to say if the woman became agitated.

When he was sure she was calm, he left the room and locked the door behind him. As he made notes on the night's events, he wondered about her. The doctor had sedated her three times in the four days that she had been here. That was usually needed for only the exceptionally violent patients on the maximum security ward. This woman seemed sane, but it was obvious that she was afraid of something.

Jeff had been working at Arkham for three years and he never recalled seeing someone so terrified…he couldn't help but wonder what had made her so scared. She didn't need to be; after all, nothing and no one could get to her in Arkham. Ironically, it was one of the safest places in The Narrows.…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Gotham City Hall_

"Dr. Crane?"

He sighed. It amazed him that after a year since their first meeting, he had unwittingly developed a vaguely unfavourable reaction towards that voice, and much like Pavlov's dog, he was essentially powerless to its' effect on himself. His indifference regarding that fact—rather than mild worry at his perceived weakness in the situation— stemmed from the smug knowledge that he effected a similar response, the reasons for which seemed to be the object of endless speculation (and perhaps investigation) by his troublesome colleague.

Troublesome was one way to describe her. Before he had made her acquaintance, her disposition gave him the impression of someone who would be agreeable to him. She carried herself with the swift air of a hardworking person, something that he admired and to which he could relate, and did not impose her stature as something on which she should be commended, a frequent habit of women that irritated him. Modestly dressed and ever-busy but generally quiet, she seemed to possess more than the average woman's outlook on life in Gotham.

Until, of course, he had met her and she opened her mouth…, and all illusion of her ever retaining an inkling of likeability had simply vanished with her incessant, imploring voice.

It was with these musings that Dr. Crane turned towards her at present.

"Ms. Dawes. Good morning." He made a poor effort to conceal the boredom in his voice. He glanced at her as she came up beside him, her shoes echoing in the hallway.

"There seems to be some kind of misunderstanding on your part concerning George Sumners," she informed him, opting not to return his greeting.

"Oh? I'm not sure what you mean, Ms. Dawes," Crane replied. He was not yet finished with Sumners, who was a convicted serial rapist. He had not declared him insane, but, like all of Gotham's violent criminals, he required psychological analysis as a part of his correctional therapy. Crane knew exactly what kind of therapy to which he would respond, but it was taking time.

"He's supposed to be serving time in Gotham County Jail. We agreed to allow him a limited period for your analysis, but he can't remain at Arkham."

"I'm fully aware of that, Ms. Dawes. But Mr. Sumners' preliminary analysis suggested disturbing behavioural tendencies so we felt compelled to examine him further. We want to obtain a thorough assessment of his condition so we can inform the prison authorities if he requires any special conditions." He hoped that this would pacify her.

"You said that he wasn't insane, Dr. Crane. Have you changed your mind?" She sounded dimly annoyed.

"No, I haven't. And I remember what I said, Ms. Dawes. I don't intend to keep him at Arkham; I'd just like to complete his assessment. I assure you he will soon be joining his peers at the maximum security wing."

"Well, I'll need to see a progress report. You cancelled our appoin—"

He ignored her words as the tedium of their encounter washed over him. Instead, he turned his head to examine her; it seemed that she, too, was tiring of their little tête-à-têtes. She had a tendency of speaking out of the side of her mouth when she had lost interest, he had long ago observed. She had now reverted to this habit as they exited the building. His gaze travelled to her upwards and he noticed that her hair was slightly shorter than the last time he had seen her. That was another thing about her; she always kept precise control over as many things as she could.

"—and it'll have to be soon," she was saying as they reached the bottom of the steps. She turned to him expectantly.

"Of course; I have no problem with that, Ms. Dawes. I had a patient come in last week who required urgent treatment, so I really didn't have the time. You can come by later this week, if it suits you."

"I think I can make it for tomorrow."

"That's fine. I'll see you tomorrow then…Ms. Dawes." He could not resist the urge to see the peeved look his persistent repetition of her name invoked. He placed the mockingly pleasant expression he reserved for her on his face. She returned it with a curt nod before she turned and quickly walked away, almost knocking over a young lawyer in her path.

_How ungracious and uncouth_, Crane thought with mild amusement as he watched her moving through the morning crowd, briefcase in hand. It suddenly occurred to him that she would have more experience with domestic abuse cases than he did, so she would probably be in a better position to…

No, the last thing he wanted was Rachel Dawes to assist him with a case. She would undoubtedly interfere with and question his methods and his research. Rose was too great of an opportunity to obtain insight into a type of fear that was rarely examined. On the other hand, it might show the assistant district attorney that he was quite open and sincere about his patients…

…Because, in the end he wanted to help them. Crane made his way to the parking lot as he tucked away the idea in his mind for future contemplation.

He would truly prove his self- control and rigorous mettle if he could tolerate working with Rachel Dawes.

It might be worth a try.…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Norman rummaged through the drawers, his face a mask of concentration. He overturned each piece of paper, bookmark, postcard and bill he found and carefully scanned it. He had to be patient, he knew. The slightest slip could cause him to miss a vital clue of her whereabouts.

He had spent the past day gathering information for every train and bus that had left the city within the time he estimated that she had disappeared. He had ruled out the idea that she would take a flight to her only living relative, an old aunt in England. The money she stole from him wasn't sufficient to buy her a plane ticket without leaving her with too little to do anything else. No, she would have wanted to save it. She was good at budgeting their monthly groceries and household bills so that she would have enough savings to buy herself books and magazines, as if she would ever be anything besides a dumb, high- school educated bitch.

After spending a couple of hours pouring over the vast amount of travel destinations, his luck had taken a turn for the better when he remembered that she used to be the editor for her high-school paper. Once, she had tried to apply to various agencies for a position as an editor-in-training, but had done so without his consent. A broken nose had remedied her desire to improve her lot in life and had also taught her a valuable lesson in asking for his permission. As far as he was concerned, that had been the end of that. However, something had clicked in his mind that led him to his car, where he had angrily thrown her belongings the nurse had given to him after they told him she had left. He hazily recalled there being a writing magazine in it; it had to be from the hospital, as he didn't bring her anything but clothes and a few personal items when she was admitted. One of the nurses had told him that she was reading it before she left the hospital.

Norman knew by now how Rose thought; she was predictable. As she had been inspired by the very same advertisements in the past, she would have been led to pull this stunt…because it was one of the few things that she liked. Probably the remnants of what she considered to be her pathetic personality. He had retrieved it and sat down to read every single word. Much to his satisfaction, he had found several cities advertising for editors and publishing staff.

Now, he was looking for anything that might narrow his search. She had seen something in that magazine that had been familiar. But what was it? Half an hour later, Norman was closer to his answer. He pulled out an envelope that was overflowing with her old magazine subscriptions. He sat down at the dining table and sifted through the pile, writing names of cities next to the list he had already compiled. He surveyed his work; it looked promising. Still, it was too long a list. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling, wondering. He was a police officer, expertly trained in tracking people down. He closed his eyes and thought. Some time later, he opened them with a predatory gleam. She was not in the healthiest condition when she left, so…she could not travel very far by herself. That limited her chances of going to a second town or city from her first destination. If she did not stop to rest soon, she would have collapsed, which meant it would have been reported somewhere, as she was by herself. He had kept a close eye on the reports coming out of neighbouring towns and cities via his secret contacts; there had been no mention of an unknown woman being found.

She had stopped somewhere; she was all alone in a strange place…and she could not survive on her own for long without medical attention.

Methodically, he began to cross off the cities that were too far. He automatically eliminated all towns, knowing that she was in a big city; that was the only way she would have the illusion of safety. What he remained with was seven cities. He licked his lips and again studied the subscription cards. They all came from various cities, but some were less frequent. He tossed these aside and wrote a fresh list that consisted of three cities: Billington City, Hillview City and Gotham City.

It was time he took that vacation he had always wanted to take. It was long overdue…and what an exciting one it would be. He had three places to visit, so much to see…and one ungrateful, soon-to-be-sorry bitch to find.

_I'm coming for you, Rosie. You'd better start praying_…

* * *

A/N: Okay, so that's supposed to set up the plot. I hope everyone enjoyed that. I would love if you leave questions or comments about this. I'm open to suggestions as well.

This was done rather quickly, so sorry for any errors.

FalconHorror


	3. Light Darkens

_**Arkham Madder**_

_Light Darkens_

Thanks to **P'tfami**, **MsBrooklyn** & **QuicktoSee** for reviewing the second chapter, **AnimeOtakuBara** for putting the story on alert and everyone who took the time to read.

Also, extra thanks to P'tfami for her advice on the Crane/ Dawes interaction.

Disclaimer: As before.

* * *

_Arkham Asylum, The Narrows_

Rose sat waiting in the plastic chair, nervousness written all over her features. She had initially placed her hands on the smooth table in front of her, but hastily removed them when her gaze fell on her bandaged wrist. The stark white medical dressing seemed to mock her silently, as if to remind her of what had transpired to bring her to this somewhat disquieting peace.

She had become aware of her surroundings in the past few days; before that, her memories consisted of a hazy mixture of people, voices, smells and bitter tastes. The back of her conscious mind vaguely acknowledged her failed suicide attempt, but somehow that seemed unimportant to her now. She would have to address the consequences of her actions, she knew, but this was a peace she had not experienced in fourteen years, since before she had married.

However, she did not feel safe.

The comforting words delivered nightly by the nurses and various orderlies had fallen on deaf ears. Rose knew that Norman would be looking for her…and eventually he would find her. He would always be after her and would not cease his pursuit until he was satisfied. After what she had dared to do, her mind shuddered at the thought of what would satisfy him now. More than ten years of marriage had shown her the unspeakable things of which he was capable. That final thought was what had convinced her whilst she lay in the hospital to put a stop to it, to end it because she could not bear any more. So she had done so, or at least made a half-hearted attempt. She was tired, broken and simply lacked the fortitude to bring any semblance of hope to herself. She was certain that hope was something she would never attain; she wasn't even aware of its true meaning.

When she had awoken in this place, the first thought that surfaced in her mind was that it was her eternal destination after her life of horror, fear and pain. She was grateful for the few moments when it had seemed so, when it had seemed to be a place of complete solitude where she would forever be alone. However, as reality slowly began to filter through her haze, she saw that she was still alive. She saw that she remained in a world that was inhabited by Norman and she had shut her eyes and desperately wished herself dead.

But she was not being allowed to think that way.

The people here wanted to believe that things would be better. She recalled a sprinkling of the doctors who had seen her since she had been here. It had to be more than a week, she assumed. Her sense of time was made unclear by nightmares and drug-induced episodes where she would slip in and out of consciousness and feel rather than see the days and nights drift over her room like clouds over a moonlit tomb. There had been a middle-aged woman who seemed to be a gynaecologist, an elderly man who had asked her some strange questions and a young, serious-looking man who had seen her the most.

His name was Dr. Crane, she remembered. Rose had automatically drawn a cloak around herself from their first meeting. He was articulate and forthright, but she sensed an undefined, hidden intelligence underneath his calm exterior, pulsating and analyzing. Or maybe she was being paranoid; several times he had reassured her of her safety and had made it clear that he wanted to help her. But Rose did not want to be reminded of what had brought her here. She just wanted to curl up and forget everything about her life, couldn't they see that?

Abruptly, the heavy metal door clicked and swung open noiselessly, revealing Dr. Crane. He looked as he always did, a picture of the perfect doctor with his glasses and immaculate suit. He gave her a brief, penetrating stare before shutting the door behind him and joining her at the table, seating himself opposite her. He carried small notepad and pen but did not place them on the table.

"Good morning, Rose. You look rested. Did you sleep well last night?"

His voice was serene and nonthreatening. Its tone was probably what had made her respond to him in the first place. It did not hold any dangerous benignity or menace, something that was all too familiar with her. Nevertheless, she did not feel that she could open up to him. She simply did not, _could not_, revisit her past, at least not before she was ready.

Rose nodded. "Yes."

The hoarseness and unsteadiness was gone from her voice, Crane noticed, but there remained an underlying wariness.

"And how are the nightmares?"

"A little better."

She had not told him about her night terrors, as he had expected. He was kept informed by the daily reports from the orderlies and it was he who had casually brought up the subject. So far she had been reluctant to elaborate on their nature, but Crane knew that he would eventually get her to relent. Her mind was in no state to bottle her emotions for much longer, if his assumptions were correct.

They usually were.

The key to getting some sort of confirmation was that one word to which he was certain she would respond.

"Well, I'm sure that you'd like them to disappear completely, or at least…be reduced to something you can control." He paused and waited, but she only nodded despondently.

"Yes."

Crane took a deep breath. This was a crucial step and he had to get it right. "The main thing is to help you get rid of whatever it is that's scaring you. I understand it's hard, but you'll feel better if you let someone else try to assist you. If you don't you'll remain in this circle where…" he paused and gestured lightly with his hand, " you'll always be afraid. And that may very well prove to be unhealthy to you," he finished meaningfully.

She nodded again.

"So, before I ask you anything I want to remind you again that you're very safe here. I only repeat myself because you seem to be fearful of you own safety. Does anyone ever mistreat you or harass you, Rose? One of the orderlies or guards?"

She shook her head without hesitation. "No, Dr. Crane. Everyone's been so nice." She sighed softly. "I'm not afraid of anyone…" She trailed off and nervously rubbed her temples with her hands.

"But you are afraid of _someone_?" He watched her carefully before hastily jotting down notes. He looked back up at her. "I get the impression that you don't feel safe here. Am I wrong?"

"No…it's just…"

She was at a block and either did not know how or did not want to say something she had doubtlessly kept hidden for a long time. Well, he would just have to give her a little help.

"Does it have anything to do with someone called 'Norman'?"

He saw it then; a bright, unmistakable flare of pure terror in her eyes. It quickly spread across her face and she wordlessly met his eyes. Crane watched with fascination, wondering who Norman was and what exactly he had done to instil such a harsh reaction and permanent fear in this woman.

"You mentioned him whilst you were in the hospital," he quickly added, not wanting her to think Norman had come looking for her at Arkham.

The panic abated visibly but she had turned pale and her breathing had become slightly ragged. She was desperately trying to control herself, but Crane did not miss her eyes darting wildly about from the door to the table. Suddenly, he rose and nonchalantly walked over to the large, square-framed window, pad and pen in hand. When he had placed himself a suitable distance away from the table, he turned his head and observed her. Her hands covered her face and her head was slightly bowed. He would have to use his voice to make her divulge that little bit of information he needed. Experience told him that it would be difficult for traumatized patients of her type to confess anything whilst being scrutinized. She was feeling ashamed and he knew it would be tricky.

"I assume he's the reason why you're here," he continued after a lengthy silence had passed.

She said nothing.

"Rose, you must understand that if someone's responsible for your condition, for bringing you harm in way, this is your opportunity to say. We can simply treat you for depression and then you're free to go…but if Norman is still a threat to you, you may not be safe once you're out of Arkham." He watched her, waiting.

Rose's mind was spinning. Somehow, although she wanted to free herself of this burden, she just could not bear the shame of what had happened, of what she had _allowed_ him to do all these years. Every solitary kick, punch, bite…all of it—even the countless bruises—was etched on her brain like a burning tattoo. How could anyone take pity on her after she had failed to protect her own child, her own flesh and blood, from someone she knew to be a monster? Memory of her unborn foetus struggling inside of her surfaced and she fought back the tears. But he was speaking to her, telling her what she already knew despite her efforts to deny herself.

She would never be safe if Norman was on the loose. But did she really have a chance now to put a stop to what she had silently endured for so long? Did she dare? He would find out, surely…and what would happen then? Who knew how close he was to finding her? That was the only thing of which she was certain; he was looking for her…and sooner or later he _would_ find her.

"Rose?" Crane prompted. "Is he responsible for what happened to you?" He wanted her to say it herself, although he had repeatedly read her medical report. "If you give your testimony I can file a report with—"

"No!" she suddenly blurted out, turning towards him.

Agitation and panic filled her voice and features. Crane decided to follow her lead.

"Why? They can keep you—"

"No!" Her voice was trembling now. "They can't. He'll know…he has friends everywhere. They'll tell him where I am. They'll help him."

"Who?" Crane interrupted her quickly, wanting to take advantage of her outburst. "The Gotham City Police Department is quite adept at tracking people down, so…" he trailed off, baiting her. It was a good thing she didn't know how corrupt the GCPD was.

"He's a policeman, a detective." Her words were frantic, pleading. "He'll know. He's probably already looking for me." She hands gripped the back of the chair as she stared at him wildly.

"Rose, as long as you're in here, he won't be able to touch you. But since you can't remain in here forever, you need to tell me what exactly he did." Crane had enough, but he wanted more. He wanted to collect as much as possible for the future sessions he had planned for her.

After a few minutes of utter stillness, she cast her eyes down to the floor and spoke in dejected, monotonous tones. "He…hit me. On my…on my stomach."

_But that's not the only place where he hit you, is it?_ Ghostly voices echoed through her mind. _Why don't you tell him about the other places? About what he did _before_ he hit you in the stomach? _

She turned back towards the table, not wanting to see anyone. She swallowed and paused, biting her lips. "I miscarried," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "He told the hospital I fell down the stairs. I-I left two days after it happened."

A few minutes passed but she had fallen mute, staring at the dull grey floor.

"So…you came to Gotham?" His tone was serene but already his mind was buzzing with questions and ideas.

She nodded but said nothing.

Crane stood for a moment, thinking. He could not afford to push her, as this was their first session in which she had revealed any useful information. A picture was slowly beginning to form in his mind. She was not like the common female patients he encountered in his routine work; she was different in a way he did not yet fully comprehend.

"Rose, what's your last name?" A few seconds passed before she answered with a watery whisper and a sniffle.

"Daniels."

"Is that his name as well?"

She nodded.

_Norman Daniels._ A name was all he needed…for now. He would ask for a physical description later. He did not want to risk upsetting her delicate condition.

He walked over to where she sat and lightly placed his hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

"I'm glad you finally said something, Rose. It's the first step to helping you to recover and keeping you safe." It was imperative that she be reminded of the link between safety and her recovery. He left her and went to the door, turning around when he had opened it. "I'll have the orderly bring you lunch early so you can get some rest this afternoon."

Her head was bent and her hair hung over the sides, hiding her face. All he saw was a slight movement of hair. He would let her rest…and have something special prepared for their next meeting. He exited the room and soundlessly closed the door behind him.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Somewhere in Gotham_

Norman was sitting at the light-brown desk and sifting through the pile of information he had so far managed to gather. It was small but vital. A list of all the hospitals and battered women shelters in Gotham City as well as the newspapers dating back to the past two weeks. His main focus at present was the headlines. He was looking for one particular story that might save him the trouble of finagling through countless of hospitals to find what he was looking for. The video had given him confirmation; what he needed now was a location.

It was lucky he had a few contacts left in the seedy police department of Gotham who needed favours. It was what had saved him a trip from Hillview City. He had already wasted three days on Billington City before Jeff Hastings called him in a state of semi-panic. A minor drug delivery had gone just a little awry and the middle-man hadn't been able to remove it from Jeff's apartment in Maine…because he'd been arrested. Jeff couldn't leave his post at Gotham PD; it would look too suspicious, so…could Norman maybe talk to one of his buddies down at the local station to make sure whatever the middle-man said remained unheard? Norman had told he'd do better than that; he would actually get a couple of his friends to remove the stash from his apartment. Jeff had been clearly relieved and told Norman not to hesitate to call him if he ever needed anything at all.

Well, Norman had said, it so happened that he _did_ need a hand.

He was tracking a woman suspected of stealing babies from teenage mothers and selling them. This lady was bad news, Norman informed him, and he thought she might have gone to Gotham by train to strike a deal. Could Jeff possibly get him the surveillance tapes for Gotham Central Station for the past couple of weeks? He didn't have a picture to fax him so he would try to spot her on camera. Four hours later Jeff had the tapes, but told Norman that the earlier ones might be a little unreliable because of a mild disturbance at the station about two weeks ago. Norman had instantly been alert and asked him to elaborate. Jeff had replied it appeared a woman collapsed in the terminal and was being taken away. The video quality was bad and all he could see was that she had dark hair. Did Norman still want the tapes to try to filter through them himself?

Norman did, and arranged with Jeff to have them delivered since he suspected Gotham might be his last stop.

Until today he had admitted to himself that he was practically on a wild goose chase unless something concrete came up. Up until then he had been operating on pure instinct and speculation. What had kept him going was the knowledge that his instinct had rarely failed him before…that and the burning rage he still felt at being betrayed by that bitch he called his wife. However, when he arrived at Gotham Central Station and had overheard that simple small talk, he instantly knew that his intuition had led him to the right place…

_Earlier that day…_

_Norman leisurely strolled through the busy crowd that was scattered across Gotham Central Station, trying his best to blend in with the tourists and commuters. He sported a black baseball cap with a casual green T-shirt and faded blue jeans. Scuffed white sneakers, a half empty water bottle and a carefully managed geniality completed his disposition. Already he had gotten a few friendly smiles, which he had returned with appropriate warmth. _

_He painstakingly maintained his illusion, walking slowly as he marvelled at the kiosks, shops and giant wall posters advertising the better part of Gotham City. He meticulously made his way through the entire terminal and adjoining building in this fashion as he furtively searched for any clue that might be of use. He saw no police lines so he assumed the woman Jeff had mentioned was not dead. However, he still had nothing positive, so he decided it was time for a little hospitable interaction with the denizens of Gotham. After a quick trip to the men's restroom (because travellers had to take bathroom breaks) he headed for a sandwich bar not far from where the train and bus tickets were sold. He couldn't risk asking questions, at least not yet. Someone would have to volunteer information, but Norman wasn't worried about _if_ anyone would be willing. Experience had shown him that if there was one thing people could not do, it was to keep their mouths shut; they loved to blab at the smallest opportunity, so it was really just a question of _when_. All he had to do was to give them an innocent jump start. He approached the counter and busied himself with reading the menu whilst he waited in the horizontal line to the cashier. _

"_Whew," he said aloud as he fanned himself with his cap. He recalled a few people complaining about the weather; that was a guaranteed conversation opener. _

"_Sticky and dry, isn't it?" a voice to his left asked him._

_Norman turned to see a woman of perhaps fifty dressed in a pantsuit. She too was studying the sandwich specials._

"_Yeah," he replied with a tired grin. "I thought Gotham would be cooler, though. Boy, was I wrong." He heaved a sigh and took a drink out of his water bottle. _

_One of the young employees who was hastily wrapping sandwiches behind the counter clucked her tongue and gave him a look. "Gotham ain't ever cool at this time of the year," she huffed. _

"_No, it's not," the woman next to him agreed. _

"_It's not _that_ hot," the cashier interjected as she speedily hit the cash register buttons. "Florida's way hotter."_

"_Yeah, but it was hot enough to make that woman collapse," her co-worker retorted. "Ambulance took her out on a stretcher, remember?"_

"_Stephen said she was bleeding really bad. Y'know, haemorrhaging. That wasn't the heat."_

That was all that Norman had gotten, but it was enough. After lunch he had called Jeff and asked him if he could send him archives of Gotham's two-week old print news along with the tapes. Only one of the tapes had shown anything of interest. It was a grainy video and all he'd been able to see was three men in uniform going in one direction with a stretcher and then going back with a still figure lying on it. The throes of curious onlookers had blocked out the rest. He had repeatedly paused and re-watched the clip but the woman's head was turned away from the camera and he couldn't see her face. However, he hadn't needed to; he recognized the small bag one of the medical attendants carried in his hand. It was oval-shaped with two thick, white stripes that ran horizontally across its side. It was a typical sports bag, but one of the white bands was broken just below the holding straps on this one. It hadn't been too difficult for Norman to spot Rose's old bag from high school. He'd paused the tape again and gazed fixedly at the unmoving figure on the screen…he knew in his gut that he had found his rambling Rose.

Now he was searching for any article that mentioned the incident. He knew that, regardless of the never-ending unfortunate events that Gotham's citizens faced each day, someone would have taken the time to report how a poor tourist woman had collapsed at the train station. There might even be an update on her condition, if he was lucky. Norman was hoping to find the name of the hospital where she had been taken. He assumed it would have been one that was closest to the station, but he had to be sure. A quick check on the city map told him that there were two hospitals located in that vicinity. He had no idea of Rose's condition so he had to assume that she had told someone about him. It was imperative that he exercise extreme caution; there was no room for mistakes. He could not afford to have suspicion drawn to him so that meant there would be few questions he could ask.

Norman continued scanning page after page of headlines. He was not impatient, for he knew that somewhere, not too far from where he was sitting, Rose was cowering whilst thoughts of him dominated her mind. Very soon he would join her in the flesh, and they would have a hell of a reunion.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Jonathan Crane's Office, Arkham Asylum, The Narrows_

It was somewhat embarrassing to Rachel that she had been in Crane's office so many times she secretly had a favourite place, but she did.

It was over by the one large window that allowed the sunlight to spill into the otherwise dreary room. It was set in one of the side walls, next to Crane's tall bookshelf. Just outside was an ancient elm whose leaves cast flittering shadows onto the floor of the office. When she looked out at the tree, the small area of the woods and blue sky beyond that, she could forget for a brief moment that she was in The Narrows, or even Gotham City. She stood staring at the soothing scene, listening to the rustling of papers behind her as Crane prepared to give her what would undoubtedly be reading material to last her a week.

She was not having a good day...or week or month, for that matter.

Despite her best efforts and promises to herself, she was slowly being overwhelmed by the combination of her personal life and work. She was finding that the two were gradually merging into a bottomless, distorted mess…one of which she struggled to break free with decreasing success.

The pressure of her work was just one factor. It seemed that for every one little thing she accomplished, there were a dozen other setbacks that simply wiped it out. Case in point was George Sumners and his apparent 'disturbing behaviour'. The only reason she hadn't launched a full-scale interrogation on Crane was that he had informed her Sumners would be ready for transfer to the Gotham County Jail the following week. What bothered her was Crane's warning that he would require maximum security at all times; she sincerely hoped that the prison would be able to handle him. The rapid increase of violent crime made her wonder privately if Crane might need to build a new asylum. She had filed an injunction against a shady company who wanted to build a night club in the better part of The Narrows. Next week she had to convince a judge that the original purpose of the location, to house an activity centre for Gotham's youth, would serve a more worthy cause. Then there were the countless of cases she and Carl had to handle. It was a daily feat to ensure their cases against the rapists, murderers, thieves and money launderers were superior to that presented by the defence. That was not always the case, and Rachel often pondered how these lawyers could knowingly free rapists when they had daughters themselves. She was attempting to lobby for harsher sentences for rapists, but the process was incredibly frustrating and time-consuming. Overshadowing those problems was the good, old insanity plea. Being locked up in a padded cell and tending the garden at Arkham was all well and good, except that they were free to go once they were declared 'cured'.

As if that wasn't enough, she had to deal with Crane on a regular basis, and to a lesser extent, Bruce. She was tired of being concerned for Bruce when all he could be bothered to do was send her a short letter or postcard once every six months or so. They all basically said the same thing; he was alive somewhere in the world and doing fine. The subtle undertones of how he missed her and wanted to see her made her angry. She was glad to know that he was fine, but she couldn't spend the rest of her life worrying about the state of his mind and often wished that he would stop writing to her. She had sympathy for him, but he was a grown man and wasn't the only one whose parents had been murdered. Also, he never really said what was troubling him, only that he had 'to be alone to think'. His latest correspondence had left her thoughts in a whirl…he was coming back to Gotham. She found that she didn't want to deal with his vague words and its hidden meanings. Crane on the other hand always spoke forthrightly. The problem was that she didn't like most of what he said. He irritated her with his impassive nature and seemingly neutral stance on matters she deemed important. A few days ago Gordon had requested him to evaluate Jack Napier, and she was curious to hear his testimony at his hearing later this week. Rachel could not decide whether Napier was cleverly using a bizarre guise to justify his crimes or if he was genuinely insane. Even though she was tired of his antics and just wanted to see him off the streets, she was not prepared to let Crane provide a lenient way merely because he wanted to study Napier. She was baffled by Crane's behaviour; he was in a perfect position to assist the city with its crime dilemma, but seemed more interested in analyzing the criminal mind.

"Would you like to speak with Mr. Sumners to inform him of the transfer?"

Crane's voice abruptly sliced through her thoughts. She turned to him.

"Um…no, that won't be necessary. You can tell him." She had no desire to exchange small talk with someone like Sumners; his blatant displays of lechery and contempt left her disgusted. She had seen him in his cell earlier and he seemed to be in fine form.

"Is Mr. Napier's hearing still scheduled for this week?" he asked in a distracted tone as he stapled some pages together. "I've had to push back a few appointments because of a new patient, so I might not be able to attend."

"It's Friday," Rachel replied tersely, already annoyed with him. Did he think he was the only one who had work to do? "I'm sure you can arrange something with his defence. I assume you're testifying on his behalf."

Crane was not lost on her tone or its implications. He scoffed lightly. "Ms. Dawes, I'm testifying that I believe he's insane, which just happens to be what the defence believes. If you disagree with that I would be more than happy—" he shut the door of the metal cabinet "—to walk you through a step by step explanation of why I consider him to be so."

"I understand perfectly why he _might_ be qualified for the insanity plea, Dr. Crane. This is exactly why your testimony provides an excellent justification for his lawyers to argue for an easy sentence. And there's a difference between being insane and pretending to be insane."

"Thank you for pointing that out, Ms. Dawes," Crane replied in a pleasantly sardonic voice. "The thought never crossed my mind before." He walked out from behind his desk to where she stood. "I believe you've given me my homework for tonight." He handed her a large, rather bulky manila envelope.

Rachel gave him a withering stare as she took the package. "You're aware of his record as much as I am and you know very well if he's allowed to come here he won't get the punishment he deserves," she retorted as she walked towards the door. "But I suppose that's of little significance to you," she added dryly.

"I'm not sure why you have the impression that we give tea parties on the maximum security wards," he told her, trying not to be aggravated at her words. He followed her out of the room. "He'll be kept under conditions equivalent to those in prison."

"Regardless of how much therapy he needs, at the end of the day he belongs in prison."

"That decision is out of my hands. You'll have to sort it out with his lawyers," was his sedate reply.

Rachel gritted her teeth. His ignorance was nauseating. Still, she didn't want to be surprised on Friday. She cleared her throat. "Actually, your opinion does have bearing on what happens to him," she began as they turned the corner, choosing her words carefully. "We already have ample evidence against him, so that's not a problem. If you think his _condition_ can be cured, the defence may very well skew your report to suggest a limited sentence."

She glanced at him as they descended the wide staircase to Arkham's main hall.

"I don't suppose your report is finished. Or are youbound as a _witness_ for the defence and can't let me see it?" She purposely ended on a sarcastic tone.

Crane resisted the urge to smirk. "_They_ didn't ask me to assess Mr. Napier, it was Sergeant Gordon, so no, I'm not a witness. But I can't help what the defence does with my opinion, Ms. Dawes. What I can tell you is that I strongly believe he requires long-term treatment."

Rachel allowed herself an inward sigh of relief. "What about your report? Can you provide extra evidence to support that theory? It might give the prosecution the leverage it needs."

"I can't have it ready before Thursday afternoon, and only the original report."

They reached the foot of the stairs and paused. Rachel turned to face him.

"You can't have it ready before that?" she persisted, sounding slightly irritated.

Crane sighed. "Ms. Dawes," he began patiently, "as I said before, I'm very busy this week. I need to file a domestic abuse restraining order on behalf of a patient, which I'm certain will take considerable time. So I'm in no position to undertake extra assignments. If you insist, next week—"

"That's too late," she interjected. "I need it by Thursday morning for the latest." She sighed and studied the large double doors that led into the asylum.

Crane looked at her with furrowed brows, briefly wondering if she thought she was the only one who had work to do.

"What's this about a domestic abuse case?" she asked a few seconds later, frowning. "The family should do that."

"She's not from Gotham and she doesn't have any family here. I have a vague idea that puts me at a disadvantage, considering her state, so I have to put aside some time to take care of it."

He watched her, waiting for a response. She hesitated, staring at the doors again.

"If you change your mind about the additional information, call my office." He turned to go.

"Wait." She sounded reluctant. "I can file the report for you. It won't take long if I review the case, I just need the details. Can you have a _complete_ assessment ready earlier if I do?"

Crane gazed at the stairs, contemplating. "Wednesday afternoon is the best I can do," he finally said. "Will that suit you?" he asked quizzically.

"That's fine," she conceded, rolling her eyes. "Fax your paperwork to my office by this afternoon," she told him as she strode towards the doors.

Crane watched her exit the building. That hadn't been as difficult as he had thought. She practically walked into it. Well, this suited her more, in his opinion, than high profile criminal cases.

He just needed one more session with Rose to obtain a few general ideas…Dawes would do the rest. He was convinced that she would be eager to help once she heard the sordid story.

And she would have no choice but to listen.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_OBGYN Ward, Gotham County General Hospital_

A tall man walked up to the main reception area and patiently waited for the throng of nurses and interns to clear. He smiled at the young nurse who was sitting behind the wide, rounded counter. A small, rectangular metal badge identified her as Julie.

"Hi," he said good-naturedly.

"Hello. Can I help you with something?" She returned his smile.

"Yeah. My sister collapsed in Central Station about a couple of weeks ago and I think they brought her here. I live abroad and I just got here, so I'm not sure…" he trailed off.

The nurse was nodding. "I remember a woman being admitted from station around that time." She turned to a flat-screened computer and began hitting buttons. "What name?"

"Betty Smith."

There was a pause whilst the woman scanned the screen and pressed a few more keys. Then she shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said regretfully. "We don't have anyone here by that name. You must be referring to someone else."

"Are you sure?" the man asked, looking confused.

"Positive. I was on shift that day and I tended to her. That wasn't her name. And she's not here anymore." She checked the records again. "We don't even have a recent admission for a Betty Smith."

"That's strange, I wonder where she is. She's not at home."

"Probably in a different hospital. There's one not too far from here; it's Trenton General. People often confuse the two. It's about…five blocks from here."

"I guess I must've gotten the name wrong," he said with a laugh. "Thanks for your help."

"No problem. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"I will. You, too."

The nurse watched him go, thinking. Something bothered her; it was just a half-formed thought, but… She dismissed the feeling as a doctor came over with a stack of patient files. She had a lot of work to do before she got off for the night.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Later that night_

Julie Davis wrapped her coat around herself as she walked along the neon lighted street. This area was deserted save for a few people who were heading in either direction. She was tired and wanted to get home and into a hot bath, but she kept a moderate pace, enjoying the feel of the night wind on her face and through her hair.

She did not notice when the man who was walking ahead of her abruptly turned left and disappeared.

She did not notice that the street had now cleared and no one was in visible range.

All she felt was a strong fist being smashed against her mouth as someone grabbed her roughly and pulled her into a side street.

She could not scream because the fist flattened out into a hand and clamped tightly over her mouth. An arm had encircled her and was preventing her from moving. She tasted warm, salty blood and silently sobbed.

"You will do exactly as I say if you want to live," a frighteningly calm voice whispered rapidly into her ear. "Understand?"

She tried to nod. It was only a mugging, it would be over soon and everything would be fine if she did what she was told. Somehow, though, it did not seem that way. Her assailant was behind her and she could not see his face, something that scared her even more.

She felt his arm move below her but his other hand pinned her back to his chest and she could feel how big he was. She didn't dare attempt to move. She stared ahead, wide eyed as she waited for him to take her bag and search her pockets.

Through the dim moonlight she made out the stack of crates that blocked most of the entrance to the narrow street. No one could see them unless they were walking directly in front. She recognized the building as a restaurant that was being renovated.

A large hand suddenly brought a pale object into her view and it took her a few seconds to realize it was a pad of paper. A dark-coloured crayon was stuck loosely in the spiral binding at the top.

"When I ask you a question, write the answer," the tranquil voice uttered.

Terror washed over her. This was _not_ a mugging.

At the same time she heard the light chirp of voices. She strained her neck and saw two police officers strolling across the main road just in front of the street.

Panicked, she flailed about and made a futile attempt to make noise from behind the gag of fingers, heaving with the effort. At this, she was dragged back even further and she watched as the men passed by without giving a glance in her direction.

She felt something slippery and wet on her ear. At the moment she registered what it was, it came down on her tender flesh like steel traps, grinding and destroying. Hot, searing pain coursed through her ear and the side of her neck. She screamed silently against the hand.

"Are you going to write or do you want me to do that again?"

Trembling, she reached for the crayon, moving faster when she felt his breath at her other ear. She gripped it tightly, not wanting to make him angry by dropping it.

"You were on shift a couple of weeks ago when a woman came in from the station. Yes?"

Julie brought the crayon down on the pad he held and shakily produced a letter 'Y' that would have made a four year-old proud. Her mind was screaming and she was responding out of fear; she could no longer think.

"Did she give a name? What was it?"

She awkwardly wrote the letters, 'R, O' and 'S' before he interrupted her.

"Where is she? And don't tell me you don't know." The sinister tone echoed throughout her brain, blocking all rational thought.

Julie wrote again, shuddering as she felt his tongue sliding over her face. He looked at the paper and paused for what seemed to be an eternity.

"Why?"

'Slit wrist' were the last two words Julie Davis wrote.

He swiftly spun her around, causing her to drop the crayon. She saw his face for only a moment before he descended, still keeping his hand on her mouth.

Five minutes later she was dead and her body lay on the street, eyes staring up at the night sky.

Norman spat out the chunk of bloody flesh and walked away, securing the paper in his jacket.

* * *

A/N: Okay, that was a bit long. I thought of splitting this into 2 chaps but I ultimately decided against it. I'll try to make subsequent chaps shorter.

Thanks for reading & I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave suggestions.

FalconHorror.


	4. Closer Between Barriers

_**Arkham Madder**_

_Closer between Hidden Barriers_

Thanks to everyone who has followed this story so far. I know it's probably boring if you're not familiar with the book, so I'm glad a few people have taken the time to read. I've been making the chapters a bit lengthy at the start, so the subsequent ones will be fairly shorter as the story peaks.

DISCLAIMER: As before; you all know it.

* * *

_Wednesday morning, Arkham Asylum, The Narrows. _

The baby girl was sitting on Rose's lap and softly cooing. Rose smiled down at her and stroked her head; never had she been so happy. It was what she'd always wanted…to be a mother. And with Norman gone, everything was perfect. When she left Dr. Crane had assured her that she was safe, she was free. The morning sunshine came through the kitchen window and warmed them both.

The baby started to fuss and wriggle in her arms. Rose got up and walked to the window to show her the trees and flowers outside, but it did nothing to calm her. Instead she clenched her tiny fists and proceeded to wail. Rose suddenly felt anxious. She was fine a minute ago, what was wrong? She tried to put her head on her shoulder but the infant was now struggling…and screaming.

Rose was scared. She had no idea that babies could cry so loudly. She was actually shrieking. Rose noticed that the air had abruptly become chilly, although it had been warm mere minutes ago. But the sun was no longer shining. A strange darkness had covered the blue sky outside and suddenly the scenery did not seem so pretty. Rose looked down at her baby and frowned. She _had _to make her stop crying. Her face had become red…and was it Rose's imagination or did her face actually look _different_? She peered at her. No, it wasn't…

Her face had changed.

Her once soft, innocent features had frightfully morphed. Her mouth was twisted and angry, her eyes were bulging and furious. Her flesh had hardened and her nose was slightly crooked in the middle of the bridge.

Just like Norman's.

No, that couldn't be possible…could it? Before she could even think a searing pain ripped across her lower stomach, making her gasp and bend over.

But the child was gone. She had vanished. Rose looked about the kitchen frantically, but she was alone.

Except for the sound of the doorknob being rattled. It became more and more agitated and finally escalated into an enraged pounding. Rose could not move…even when the front door banged open and heavy footsteps came thundering down the hall—

Rose woke with a gasp that she managed to stifle before it became a scream. She _was not_ in her own home; she was still in Arkham Asylum, she was childless and nothing was perfect.

Because Norman was out there somewhere hunting her. How close was he?

Rose shuddered and pulled the covers closer as she listened to the night sounds of Arkham. Tomorrow –or later today—she had another session with Dr. Crane. She found herself dreading the questions she knew he would ask. She did not want to discuss anything about her marriage, especially anything to do with Norman.

But how much longer could she hide? She was a grown woman who had been brutalized and threatened, but didn't she now have the opportunity to break free of it? Hadn't she already taken the first step? Countless questions remained unanswered in her head. Some time later, as she dozed off, a peculiar thought floated through her mind; she would browse through the books in library during recreation hour, instead of just sitting listlessly and staring at magazines or watching board games.

Later, she would never even recall having made that decision. It seemed like a natural occurrence.

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_Later that morning _

Gordon stood and observed as the forensic officers gathered the last bits of evidence from the scene. Although he hated to be pessimistic, something told him that everything they picked up –the pieces of flesh and blood samples—would all belong to the victim. Whoever did this was no ordinary mugger; nothing appeared to be missing and Gordon knew they would have a difficult time obtaining anything of use. What would baffle them the most, he suspected, was finding a motive. Or at least, a sane one.

It could be one of Jack Napier's henchmen, a payback for his being in prison, but this wasn't their style.

Who, then, had mutilated this body in such a fashion? He hoped that it was a passing drifter; Gotham certainly didn't need another deranged murderer.

He sighed and walked over to where a man was carefully placing a sliver of bloody flesh in a plastic bag.

"Any idea what this could be?"

The man looked up at him and shook his head, evidently confused as he was. "Not a clue," he replied. "Pretty gruesome stuff…haven't seen anything like this in a while."

Gordon nodded in agreement.

"I'll tell you something though," the man continued. "This here—" he held up the bag, "—wasn't done with a knife."

Gordon frowned. "You mean there was another murder weapon?" That was the last thing he needed; it would be a task in itself to find the instrument that had been used to slit her throat. Now they had to look for another weapon and ensure it matched.

"No, not unless you count teeth as a weapon. Let me show you something." He led Gordon to the back of the ambulance. He unzipped the black body bag and pointed. "See here and again here. Bite marks; she's got them all over."

"Bite marks? From an animal, maybe? After she died?"

"Not likely. The bites aren't consistent with the teeth of an animal. Look at this on her ear. And see here." He pointed at the side of her face. "It's too small for an animal…not clean enough. Animal teeth would be sharp and easily tear through human flesh, but there's bruising around the area, as if excessive force was applied. You won't get that with an animal."

"So what is it?"

"I'm guessing human teeth."

"_Human_ teeth?" Gordon raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"It's possible, y'know. We'll call in experts from GU but I doubt they'll say anything much different."

"You mean a person…bit out pieces of her?"

"Apparently."

Gordon looked at the crime scene again and wondered if the murderer was satisfied. He didn't think so.

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_Wednesday Afternoon_

It was really surprising that some days she had time to eat, Rachel mused tiredly as she munched on a cold tuna fish sandwich. It was the remains of her lunch, which she had cut short to complete the monumental amount of paper work she had, including filing the domestic abuse case for Crane.

She had begun her day early and finished her own work before attending to the case. She found herself oddly drawn to the story Crane had given her, brief as it was. After toiling on so many criminal cases she had come to appreciate the ones that were more personal. The woman's case would be tricky, considering her husband was a cop, but that made Rachel more determined. Gotham was filled was corrupt law enforcement officials and if someone had come here to seek shelter from an abuser in disguise, she was going to do her best to ensure his friends didn't exempt him from getting what he deserved.

However, as she walked along the busy street she felt an uncomfortable twinge again, the one that had occasionally popped up since her conversation with Crane yesterday morning. The more she thought about it, she wondered if she had been unwise to make what could only be described as a deal with him. She had no problem with filing the report, but exchanging favours with Crane somehow made her a little nervous. In the year she had known him, whilst he hadn't exactly done anything that could be labelled as suspicious he didn't come off as the most sincere person. He was something of a mystery to her; she was aware of his professional background and that was all. Rachel wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but he seemed a bit secretive at times and she wished she knew why. It frustrated her that she spent a great deal of her time and energy trying to analyze men who were determined not to be understood, but it was her nature and part of her job.

Her cell phone rang, cutting off her thoughts. She plucked it out of her coat and glanced at her watch. She would have to hurry if she wanted to get her clothes to the dry cleaners before they closed.

"Hello," she answered distractedly.

"_Ms. Dawes,"_ came Crane's voice, _"I'm calling about that report I promised you. You can collect it anytime you're ready." _

"Oh. I don't think I can make it before six."

"_That's fine; I'll be in my office."_ He disconnected without another word.

Rachel managed to reach the cleaners before they closed. As she waited in line she thought about how she might use Crane's additional analysis to the prosecution's advantage. It might result in Napier's trial being brought up quickly and later it would argue for a harsh sentence. Her mind was roving over the possibilities as she exited the building…and promptly collided with a man walking in the opposite direction. Her bag along with some papers she was carrying clattered all over the sidewalk.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized as she bent to help the man retrieve his own belongings, which had also fallen.

"That's alright," a good-natured voice replied. "Bound to happen sometime if you're busy."

The man placed a stack of papers into her hands and Rachel straightened to look at him. He was tall, dressed in a business suit and his tan hair was ruffled by the wind.

"Still labouring away on Gotham's thugs, huh?" he asked with a friendly grin.

"Wh—I'm sorry, what?" she sputtered.

He tilted his head slightly. "Ms. Dawes, right? Assistant D.A.?"

"Oh! Yes…sorry, I didn't get…" she gestured with her head.

"That's okay." He smiled at her and she immediately returned it. "You look like your day's still running, that's all I meant."

"Uh…no. My day's over; I was heading home," she said rather senselessly. "I'm just a little…distracted."

"I'm a little distracted myself. I'm trying to get a last-minute ticket to the charity event on Sunday night. Well, it was nice meeting you."

He strode away before a tongue-tied Rachel remembered that her office had extra tickets. She began to walk, sighing in exasperation; she had been too long exposed to social outcasts like Crane and Bruce that she had forgotten how to interact with normal men. Which was probably why her personal life was as exciting as that of a hermit. When was the last time had she spoken to a man on something that wasn't work-related? She couldn't remember.

She arrived at Arkham at 6:20 p.m. due to the unbelievable traffic going in and out of The Narrows. The ground floor of the asylum was virtually deserted save for a few staff members. When Rachel came to Crane's office on the first level the door was open. Crane was standing in front of his computer speaking on the phone. His jacket was off and he had his back to her. She knocked on the door and he looked around. Still conversing, he pointed at a white envelope on his desk and turned back to the computer screen, ignoring her. Rachel was too tired to feel any irritation so she picked up the envelope and left. She was at the top of the stairs when Crane's voice called out from behind her.

"Ms. Dawes!"

She turned around to see him standing at the door.

"Have you got a minute?"

Surprised, she walked back to his office, wondering what he could possibly want. They had no friendly contact outside of their professional relationship.

"About that domestic abuse case," he began when she had neared him. "I realize it's difficult to build a solid case for a restraining order."

Rachel rubbed her eyes and nodded. "Probably, but with the hospital records as evidence I think her chances are really good."

"Well, that's just it. Her suicide attempt puts a shadow of doubt on her claims. I've discovered that the abuse is far worse than what's on that report I gave you."

"Okay…I'll just add your findings to what I have. It'll build a stronger case," she said, slightly confused.

"Only if she's willing to testify in detail about the past abuse." He folded his arms and looked at her seriously. "Rose believes her husband is on his way to Gotham, and if that's true I'd like to get this sorted out before he gets here."

Rachel saw what he was getting at; if a cop came looking for his suicidal wife and no one knew of his abuse, it would mean a lot of trouble for the asylum and everyone involved.

"Now, I can't hurry her sessions to get that detailed information," he continued. "She's very traumatized. I thought you might be able to help out with that."

She was momentarily speechless. "_Me_…what do you want me to do?"

"I'd like you to speak with Rose. It's more appropriate if a lawyer convinces her to give a full testimonial, not her doctor. Also, I think she'll feel more comfortable in her condition opening up to a woman. It's not a therapeutic session," he quickly added, seeing the look on her face.

"What am I supposed to say to her? I don't want to make her worse—"

"No, it won't be anything formal. I'll give you a guide; just a few simple questions that you can memorize and ask her at suitable times in the conversation. All you'll be doing is showing her the best way to make her safe, lending a sympathetic ear, if you like. More importantly, you'll be serving as a witness for whatever she reveals to me."

Rachel bit her lip, uncertain, but had to admit to herself that he had a good point. She had a chance to put a vile cop behind bars and stop him from hunting his terrified victim. Crane would get another case study for his never-ending research. It couldn't hurt; maybe she could actually do something good here.

"Alright," she finally replied. Behind them the phone started to ring. "I can make it Friday afternoon."

"Good. I'll tell Rose you're coming." He nodded at her and went inside to answer the phone.

As Rachel walked back to her car that uneasy feeling floated across her mind once more, but she also felt a hint of intrigue at the thought of meeting Rose.

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_Thursday Morning_

Norman's senses were tingling. Finally, he knew where Rose was. She was so close…yet it would take a few miracles to get to her without bringing any unnecessary attention towards himself. He had done enough already with that idiot nurse from the hospital. That was to be expected; after all, someone had to bear the consequences of his anger.

_You see what happens when you disobey me, Rose? Other people pay for your stupidity. _

Rose could be blamed for that and she would pay eventually, but for now he had to tread carefully. He would save his temper, build up his seething rage slowly and wait. When they were reunited he would have a hell of a time unleashing it upon her.

All he had to do now was bide his time. Already he had formulated a plan. He had gathered all the information on Arkham Asylum that he could find and his first order of business today was finding out who were the big-shots who ran the place. From what he had learned from reading and chatting with people, the asylum had considerable notoriety. The head director, an aged man from the newspaper clipping he'd seen, apparently had everything under perfect control and intended to pass on his prestigious position to a younger but equally tenacious doctor. Norman was now waiting across the parking lot of the large compound to get a glimpse of the assistant director. If he was lucky he'd see them both; he needed to get a basic knowledge of their habits before he made a move. One mistake and he would lose his chance of getting Rose. A couple of his buddies at the GCPD had contacts in the nuthouse so it would be easy to find out how they were handling her. What would be difficult was getting her away from the shrinks so they'd think she was safe. But he wasn't worried; he'd find a way, he always did.

He didn't have to wait long, it turned out. He had taken a seat in the diner across the street that gave a generous view of the reserved parking spaces. About 7:45 a sleek black car passed through the secured gates without stopping and parked in the spot labelled 'Assistant Director'. Norman turned his head towards his newspaper but kept his eyes focused on the car. Minutes later the driver emerged and Norman almost choked on his eggs. If that was what he was up against then he had no problem at all. The doctor was a geeky little twig decked out in a business suit that made him look even smaller. Norman watched as he strode up to the steps, briefcase in hand, and entered the building.

He smiled to himself. This might just be easier than he thought.

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_Thursday Afternoon, Arkham Asylum_

Rose found the book quite by accident.

She was browsing the shelf of tame mystery books –she saw the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys series— when she spotted and book on acrylic painting on the top shelf. Se reached upwards and pried it from between two thicker books. A slim brown-covered booklet came down with it. Rose picked it up and read the faded cover. _Susan's Promise_ by Betty Madder, it said. Without knowing why, she took it back along with the painting book, to the table. She skimmed through it at first, but then a sentence in the middle caught her attention.

_She had been living in misery for too long and it was time to end it._

It was a simple sentence, but it held a world of meaning for her. She read another paragraph and found herself drawn to the soothing words. She absently put aside the other book and began to read the short story from the beginning. It was a modestly narrated tale but she was engrossed by Susan and her ability to overcome her nightmarish life, enforced by a domineering husband. Rose was in absolute awe of the similarities between Susan and her. Susan had been weak, with very little choices left, but she had managed to see the most important one. As Rose finished reading the book, she started thinking about what she had known for a long time but suppressed until this powerful story had forced her to face the facts. She also had to make a choice, as few as were left to her. If she didn't, she would be crushed by Norman and hers would be a short, pitiful life filled with fear and pain until he eventually killed her. That thought stunned her….but it was true. Wasn't she here right now because Norman had killed her child? If he could do that and merely tell her that it was okay, that she "could have another one", wouldn't he kill her as well?

Although there was no need to answer that question, she shocked herself when she whispered: _"Yes…."_

She was still for a long time, thinking. A swift breeze came through the window and tossed the last page to its other side. The flash of colour broke her semi-daze and she turned the book sideways to get a better look.

It was a colour plate of a painting. The vivid hues contrasted with the book's faded pages and Rose could see the intricate detail of the scene. It showed a lush green pasture, filled with flowers and trees with a glistening lake at one side. Overlooking the view on the top of hill stood a woman. She was dark-haired and wore a pink-red toga. Rose stared at the shade, mesmerized; the integrity of the pink came through despite the richness of the colour and silkiness of the gown appeared to move. The woman was standing with her arms hanging to her sides and Rose wondered if she was Susan. What would she be feeling at the end of her struggle? Whoever she was there was no way to tell, because the artist had painted her from behind. Rose looked at the bottom of the picture but there was no name or any reference on the page. She flipped to the front pages and looked for any acknowledgement from the author but strangely, the painting was not even mentioned. Rose continued to stare at the picture.

The next day, without knowing why, she began to paint a picture of her own.

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_Friday Morning_

Rachel was actually having a good morning.

It was unlikely, but it was happening. Not only had Jack Napier been denied bail (although that wasn't a shock) but his trial had been given top priority. Whilst Crane hadn't exactly proclaimed that Napier should be imprisoned for the rest of his insane life –that would have been too much to expect from him—he _had_ admitted that Napier was extremely dangerous and would require intensive rehabilitation. That was good enough for her. Even if his defence brought in another psychiatrist's evaluation, Crane's testimony and report would be almost impossible to refute with Napier's past. Generally she was content, and gladly informed the family of Napier's latest victim that he was being put away. When she emerged from the courtroom she saw Crane at the water cooler talking on his phone. She walked towards him after ensuring Napier's lawyers, who were visibly peeved, were out of sight.

Crane saw her and, still conversing, removed from his jacket a folded paper that he offered to her. Rachel skimmed it; it was a list of seemingly simple questions for her to integrate into her conversation with Rose. Below that were brief notes on things to avoid saying, all written by Crane. She tucked the paper away in her briefcase for later.

"I'll come by around five this afternoon," she told him when he was done.

He nodded. "Alright. It shouldn't take you more than two hours." His phone rang as they reached the steps.

Rachel went off in the opposite direction to buy her lunch early. She had many things to before going to Arkham and didn't want to waste time in the busy lunch hour. The diner had only a sprinkling of people and she got her food in minutes. As she was leaving she came face to face with the man she'd bumped into at the cleaners. He came in the door and paused when he saw her.

"Hey, there." He gave her a smile.

She smiled back. Now that she had a better view of him she saw that he had a boyish face and was probably not much older than she was. Also, he was quite good-looking. "Hi. Listen, if you still want that ticket my office has extras."

"Oh thanks, but I already bought one from a friend of mine. I'm Jason, by the way." He held out his hand and Rachel shook it.

"Nice to meet you." She went around him and he turned and held the door open for her.

"So, will I see you there, or did you manage to cook up a good excuse for your boss?"

She laughed, a sound that was strange to her own ears. "No, I didn't. I'll be there."

He shrugged, still smiling. "Aww…well maybe we can keep each other company if we're bored." He waved to her as she started to walk away. "Bye."

"Bye." Rachel wasn't one to make casual acquaintances so quickly, but he was one of the few men she'd met and liked almost immediately. He had a warm and genuine sense of humour, and that was good; she didn't get to laugh often in her work and when she went home she was alone. She found herself hoping that she would see him on Sunday.

Someone else was also having a good morning; Norman.

He was actually inside Arkham Asylum.

He had prepared himself to face anything when he first entered the compound, but when his fake identification let him through the security he knew that the rest would be a breeze. They would have been on high alert had Rose given them his description, and he'd been sure that his face would be recognized despite his disguise. But he quickly realized that they weren't expecting him. Now that the hardest part was over, all he had to do was find out where Rose was being kept. He wasn't worried about her seeing him; an orderly working at the dispensary and delivering medications to the maximum security patients didn't have much contact with the lower risk patients. Norman had been given a layout of the asylum and he had pinpointed the suicide wing.

Rose would be somewhere on that floor. He could almost feel her.

As he was quietly sorting out pills and sterile syringes he was formulating a plan. He needed to familiarize himself with the all exits so that he would have alternative escape routes should anything go wrong. If he was careful and patient, he would make certain that Rose walk out of the here very soon……and he would be waiting for her. No one would hear from her again, at least not in this filthy city. In fact, depending on his mood, he was sure that Rose would remain quite _silent_ for the rest of her natural life. There were so many things he had to show her, it really would be a waste just to kill her on the spot. Especially for all the trouble he went through to find her, it was best that he prolong their time together.

After all, she was his wife.

* * *

A/N: Okay, I hope you enjoyed that.

As I've said before, I'm not a big fan of soppy romances, so don't expect to see one between Dawes and Jason. He has a small purpose in the story, though.

Things start to come to a head in the next chapter, where Rachel meets Rose and has a somewhat embarrassing episode with Crane, who displays his sordid streak. Also, you'll see WHY Norman was able to get inside Arkham.

Sorry for any errors (I use U.K. English, btw :)).

Thanks for reading and please say what you think.

FalconHorror.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Arkham Madder**_

Thanks to **P'tfam**i & **Blossoming GD Freak** for reviewing & to everyone else who read so far. I hope this hasn't been too boring. :)

Disclaimer: Same as before

* * *

_Friday Afternoon, Arkham Asylum_

Crane rubbed his eyes and yawned. He was very tired. He lazily rummaged through the pile of incoming work; there were patient updates, requests for evaluations for external patients and a memo about new orderlies and their assignments to floors. He'd spent close to an hour talking to Sergeant Gordon earlier about a developing case, where apparently the murderer had a fetish for biting. If that kept up then he would have to derive yet another psychological profile. He finished his last report for the evening and looked at his watch. After he checked the audio device that linked to the one he had covertly placed in Rose's room, he made himself a cup of coffee and went downstairs. He had just finished talking to the nurse when Rachel Dawes stepped inside the hallway. He noted with approval that she was casually dressed; Rose would relate to a young woman better than she would a frigid lawyer.

"Is she ready?" she asked as she came up to him.

Crane nodded. "She's in her room." As she followed him back to his office he observed her body language; she seemed slightly nervous. He wanted to ignore it…but couldn't resist prodding her just a little. He handed her a notepad and a pen.

"Your hands are cold," he said casually as their fingers briefly touched.

The comment seemed to snap her to attention, and she gave him a look.

"Some of the questions you gave me are a little out of place," she said, ignoring his odd remark.

"Don't worry about that; you'll know when to ask them." They left his office and walked down the hall. "If anything unexpected happens you can call for the guard; there'll be one right outside. If she gets overly agitated and you can't calm her by diverting questions, then you can stop." They came to Rose's room and paused. "Anything else?"

"Uhh……no. No, it's fine." Rachel peered through the glass and saw a still figure sitting on a narrow bed, reading.

"Good. I'll let you introduce yourself, then. I'll be in my office when you're finished."

With that he walked away, eager to know how well his hypnosis session had worked. Rose hardly remembered it of course, but that wouldn't reduce its effect. What she had unwittingly revealed would help Dawes to get her to tell the entire story. Dawes was about to sit through some sordid details………

He closed the door to his office, sat down in his chair and secured the earpieces. He could hear Dawes' voice speaking to Rose. He leaned back and prepared to listen.

This was going to be very interesting.

"Did you paint that?"

The burst of colour caught Rachel's attention in the dreary room. The canvas, on the floor leaning against the wall, was mostly blank but the distinct form of an image could clearly be seen.

Rose nodded. "Yes. I decided to do something besides read for a change." She noticed Rachel staring at it. "You like painting?"

"Oh…yes." Rachel gave her a small smile. "I've never had the time to try it myself, though. This is really good."

They both sat at the table.

"So, are you feeling okay to speak to me? I won't keep you long. I just want to have your story straight to make sure your case goes smoothly." She clicked on the digital recorder Crane had given her but kept it on her lap.

Rose looked pale but composed. "I'm fine." She gave a wan smile.

Suddenly, Rachel didn't want to hear any of what she had to say; she wanted to get as far away as possible from Arkham. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty. She pushed the feeling aside. "If you feel like you can't continue at any time, just say."

She nodded.

"Can you remember when the abuse first started?"

Rose took a deep breath and started to tell her about her wedding night.

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_Friday night, somewhere in Gotham_

Norman leaned back on the bed, satisfied. He was so close to Rose now. He wondered with amusement what would be her reaction if she knew _how_close he was. But it was good that she didn't; he wanted her to think she was safe. It wouldn't be as rewarding when they finally met if she was expecting him.

He had just gotten off his shift at the nuthouse where his pathetic Rosie was hiding. It had proved to be a fruitful shift, and he was now carefully formulating a plan that would get him to her in the quietest way possible. He had to be careful, but at the same time he had to move quickly; there was no telling how much she had babbled to them. He had already taken steps to protect himself in that area, and he was sure they wouldn't be able to lift a saliva sample from that nurse, but he didn't know how much longer he could keep a low profile and avoid the nerd who ran the place.

He was keen to take Rose away from prying eyes. He wanted the both of them to be alone……………

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_Friday night, Arkham Asylum_

Rachel was able to keep a smile on her face for Rose as she left the room. Rose seemed relieved but tired, and she went to her bed. Considering what she had just put herself through, she seemed okay.

Rachel, however, was far from okay.

As she walked away from the room she gripped her jacket and bag tightly to steady her hands, which were beginning to tremble. As they went along, Rose had unexpectedly opened up to her. Initially, Rachel had been glad, but as her story unfolded, Rachel began to wish that she would stop. Somehow, because of Crane, herself and mostly for Rose, she had sat through the gruesome tale silently, taking notes as she had been trained.

But now that Rose had stopped talking and she was left to her own thoughts, the details of Rose's marriage throbbed in her head, refusing to go away. She was no stranger to violence, but this was more than that. This was someone's entire life, day after day of fear, not knowing what to expect. She had never so closely associated with such a person……and she found that she was having trouble dealing with it.

She headed for the bathroom, her entire body weak and unsteady, despite her best efforts to calm herself. Her head hurt and she felt nauseous. Rose's words kept swimming through her mind. She had been so self-absorbed for the past few days, feeling sorry for herself, thinking about Bruce and being occupied with work, that she had never stopped to realize that other people had worse problems. Suddenly, she felt small, unsettled and, well……just lame. She staggered to the sinks and looked at herself in the mirror; she looked sick. She took a deep breath and forced herself to think of something else, but she couldn't. She wondered if she was having a panic attack. She never had one before, but if this was then ironically she was in the right place.

That reminded her of Crane. She dreaded his scrutiny when he saw her. She bent and splashed her face with cold water, then dried it. She rummaged through her bag, found lip gloss and shakily applied it. She quickly smoothed her hair and left. As soon as she stepped outside, she saw Crane, who was apparently looking for her in the hall. He spotted her and she went to meet him, putting what she hoped was an unreadable expression on her face as she did so.

"The nurse told me you were done. How did it go?"

"Fine." She glanced at him casually as she handed him the recorder. "She went to bed." Out of the corner of her eye she could see that him examining her as they descended the stairs.

_He'd better not ask me if I'm okay._

"Good. So, what do you think of her testimony? Can it be used in her favour?"

_Why's he walking me to the door? Oh, he expects me to say something._

Crane stepped in front of her, held the door open and paused, forcing her to look at him.

"Um, I think so, along with the hospital records. After I go through everything and get it organized I'll, uh, file the report."

He nodded and she walked through the door, feeling his eyes on her the entire time. As soon as he was out of sight Rachel practically ran to her car and got inside. She was going straight home, into the shower and then into bed.

Crane watched her drive away and wished he had put a camera in the room as well; he would've liked to see her face when Rose finished. But hearing the tone of her voice had been enough. She was a good actress, but he wasn't quite sure why she pretended to be so indifferent about it. She was obviously moved; Rose had given quite a story. Well, it had helped _him_, in any case. He was positive he would soon find Rose's ill-tempered husband.

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_Saturday Morning, Warner Street, the Narrows_

"A neighbour called it in," a uniformed officer told Gordon as he stepped into the bedroom. "She came over with something to eat and the smell got her."

Gordon could see why. The body was already decomposing and the smell was almost unbearable. He put a tissue over his nose and mouth and stepped closer.

For a moment he didn't understand the strange position of the body on the floor……until he saw the metal coat hook protruding from his back. He had been impaled on it. Gordon bent down and examined the wound more closely. The coat rack was long with several pegs, the kind that was bolted to the door or inside of a closet. It was likely that the hook had gone through a stab wound, but the killer would still have to be someone of immense strength.

Just like Julie Davis' murderer.

"Anybody got the stats on this guy?" he called, looking at the corpse for bite marks.

"Yeah," someone in the next room answered him. "Twenty-seven, medical orderly, works at Arkham Asylum."

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_Sunday Evening, Gotham Central Museum_

When the presentation was over Crane looked for Dawes in the crowd of people that was scattering. He spotted her at the far end of the room, talking to a couple of professors from the university. She was smiling politely and, Crane observed, doing her best to look as if she was interested in their speech.

He was about to make his way over to her when a doctor from the hospital approached him. Deciding that telling her about what he had found could wait, he shook the man's hand and began to speak with him.

That turned out to be a good thing for the both of them.

"Hey. I guess you made it."

Rachel turned around and saw Jason smiling at her.

"Yes, barely."

"Listen……do you want to get away from this crowd? I'm not in the mood for intellectual socializing tonight."

Rachel smiled. "Sure." They went into the foyer at the side, where a number of paintings were hung.

He glanced at her. "Are you okay? You look…I don't know, a little sick."

She laughed weakly. "No, I'm fine. It's just work, that's all."

"I know what you mean," he agreed.

She looked at him. "What do you do?"

"I'm financial advisor for a company that presented here tonight."

"Oh, so you're just visiting Gotham. Is this your first time?"

"Actually, no. I've been here before but I never had the chance to see anything. I was hoping to get some company Tuesday night for dinner and some sightseeing. You up for it?" He looked at her hopefully.

Rachel was taken off guard. "Umm……I…have to work on Wednesday." But that wasn't the real reason, she knew.

"I promise to have you home before eleven," he said with a good-natured grin.

"Alright," she told him hesitantly, and was surprised to see how pleased he looked.

"Great. Well, uh, where should I meet you? Do you want me to pick you up at work? Home?"

"My office," she automatically said. "You know where it is?"

Before he could answer, a noisy chirp rang out. "Oh, that's mine," he said apologetically. He took out a cell phone and glanced at it. "Report to work," he sighed. "Sorry. Uh, how does 5:30 sound?"

"That's fine."

"Good, I'll see you then. And I know where your office is. Bye." He smiled at her. "You look nice, by the way."

"Thanks. Bye." She watched as he walked to the front, wondering why she hadn't met someone like him before. Probably because she was either stuck in the office dealing with criminals or up at Arkham dealing with criminals. It would be a welcome change.

She turned and went back inside.

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_Sunday Evening, Arkham Asylum_

Rose examined the incomplete painting yet again. It made no sense, but it was there. She was seeing it with her own eyes.

The painting had _moved._ Not only that, but a part had been added that wasn't there before.

She wondered if she was going mad; if so then she was in the right place. She had taken a nap and when she had woken the first thing she had done was to look at her painting. She had become quite proud of it. Immediately she had noticed the changes.

The woman she had painted was now wearing a deep pink-red gown instead of a blue one. Also, she now had brown hair, not the blonde of her mother, on whom she had based the figure. What frightened her the most though, was the addition of a stone grey doorway, what looked to be the entrance to some sort of a dark pavilion. It stood isolated on the grassy plain she had just finished.

It was from the painting she had seen in the book.

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_Gotham Central Museum_

"I don't suppose you're aware of what kind of friends you make."

Rachel turned around to the voice in her ear. It was Crane, of course, standing right behind her gazing at the oil paintings. He was formally dressed; his usual bland white shirt was replaced with a sleek grey one with matching tie. She actually thought he looked nice for about two seconds……before she remembered Friday's incident. Her irritation with him came flooding back.

"Excuse me?"

He looked at her. "I've been trying to call you all afternoon. You didn't get any of my messages?"

"I haven't checked my calls," she lied and turned back to the painting.

"Hmm. So, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"No."

"Your new……colleague or _boyfriend_. Who is he?"

Rachel turned to face him again. She scoffed. "What!?"

Crane removed a piece of paper from his jacket and held it out to her. It was only then that she noticed his expression. The usual one of impassive calmness was replaced with seriousness and……anger? It was tightly concealed, but it was there; he actually sounded angry. But why? More bewildered than irritated now, Rachel took the paper and unfolded it, aware that Crane was watching her.

The contents came at her like a flood. It was just a few lines; a profile. A name, date of birth, height, profession; all the usual that came with such a document.

What caught her attention was the picture above the information. It was a fully coloured headshot……of Jason, the man she had thought was so charming and handsome just minutes ago.

Only the name on the profile read _Norman Daniels_………

* * *

A/N: Alright, a cliffhanger. Okay, so maybe you predicted that would happen, but Rose isn't exactly home free. Things are coming to an end, but Norman isn't through yet. He still has to meet with the Joker, Rose & of course, Crane.

Hope this was enjoyable. Thanks so much for reading.

FalconHorror


	6. Chapter 6

_**Arkham Madder**_

Many, many thanks **to P'tfami, BlossomingGDfreak, mirrorconspiracy** and **hakuko 123** for reviewing, as well as everyone else for taking to time to read this fic up to now.

Hope I don't disappoint with this one. :)

Disclaimer: Naturally, I own nothing of Crane, Dawes, Rose or Norman.

* * *

_Sunday evening, Gotham Central Museum_

Rachel stared at the paper, her throat tight and her hands cold.

_Jason was NORMAN DANIELS!?!_

An overwhelming mixture of shock, revulsion, shame and, above all, screaming fear, swept over her like a monster wave, rooting her to the spot. She thought of Rose, her story and how she had vowed to protect her from this madman.

Finally, after what must have been several minutes, she folded the paper with barely steady hands and held it out to Crane without looking at him. She had to compose herself properly before attempting that.

"Keep it. Your copy," was all he said. His voice was controlled and deathly calm.

Rachel took a long, deep breath and, with strenuous effort, forced herself to ignore her personal feelings (there would be _plenty_ of time to be embarrassed later) and concentrate on the critical factor; Rose was in potential danger. She found it difficult not to panic, though, and frantically scanned the room for signs of her would-be date.

"Don't bother. He's gone," Crane informed her in his characteristic no-nonsense tone. "He left about ten minutes ago in a rental car. I have no idea where he's staying or what he's up to, but I presume he knows where Rose is."

At last Rachel dragged her eyes to him with as much dignity she could muster, given the bizarre circumstances.

"Does she know he's here?" Her voice was carefully neutral but even she detected the underlying fear in it, only a fraction of what she was really feeling.

"No. I haven't told her yet. When I got his picture this afternoon I alerted the asylum's security and tried to call you. He knows the both of us, obviously." He paused briefly and gave her a curious look. "I assume you've said nothing to him……" He left the statement unfinished.

"Of course I didn't," she snapped, more angry with herself for being so naïve than his tone. "I don't discuss any of my cases with strangers," she told him with gritted teeth. She took another deep breath. "He bumped into me a couple of times and we talked."

_Ohh, that's smooth, blame it entirely on him._

"The first time I saw him was……," she sighed raggedly, completely on edge. "On Wednesday. After work. I was dropping off my laundry." She abruptly stopped, aware that she was on the verge on ranting and that Crane was hanging on to her every word. She massaged her temple and thought for a minute. "He……didn't ask me anything, but he mentioned the charity event, so he knew I was going to be here tonight. That's it."

_Lawyer's version of the truth, anyway._

"Did he mention anything about himself? His work, his _name_?"

"Oh, he called himself Jason. I didn't get a surname. He, uh, said he worked for one of the companies here and that he was visiting from out of town."

"Is he staying at a hotel in this area? Did you see anything strange in his car?" Crane pressed.

"What?! No. I've never been in his _car_. And I don't know where he staying."

"Well, why didn't you ask? You seemed to be making enough small talk." He scoffed lightly, sending Rachel's nerves to the breaking point.

"He—approached—me," she said gratingly.

"Well, when you see him again—"

"_I'm not DATING him!!!"_

Her shrill voice cut through the lazy banter of the guests and the silence was immediate. All eyes focused on her and Crane. Then came a few whispers.

"Hmm. Alright," replied Crane, seemingly unaffected by her outburst and the attention it had drawn to them.

He casually placed his hand on her shoulder and led her outside to the terrace. Grateful to be away from the stares, Rachel willingly followed. The cool air hit her face and gradually she felt the warmth subside. Crane looked less than pleased at this latest turn of events, and for once Rachel didn't blame him. She had endangered the life of his patient by her carelessness.

"He probably knows where we live. It wouldn't have been difficult to find out. He's spoken to you so he wants something. You may be in danger." He paused, allowing her to soak in the reality.

"We'll have to alert the police," she said as steadily as she could manage.

He raised an eyebrow. "The police? You think the police can help detain him? How do you think someone like Norman Daniels found his wife so quickly in the first place?"

When Rachel was silent, he answered his own question.

"He's a cop. That means he has many friends, just like himself, right here in Gotham. The minute we put out an alert for an officer of the law, with evidence gathered from his suicidal, runaway wife, not only will it look suspicious, but he's going to know about it."

Rachel knew he was right. There was no way to tell how many friends he had in the corrupt GCPD. Or what they would do for him. She and Crane would be a laughingstock if they requested a warrant for a visiting cop. The only thing they had on him was faking his identity, and that was Rachel's word alone.

"My apartment is secured. I think I can get a restraining order for Rose."

"I doubt that'll stop him, whatever it is he's planning. And you still need to be careful. Out of curiosity, what do you plan on doing if he approaches you again?"

Rachel knew that was her biggest problem. He was expecting her to go out with him on Tuesday night. He would show up at her office. What _was_ she going to do?

_Sorry, you turned out to be a psycho cop, so I have to cancel our date._

"I can pretend I don't know who he is. I might be able to weed him out, until I can get Carl to do something about this. I can buy us some time."

Crane was silent for a few minutes. "It's risky. He might know you're bluffing," he finally said. "It could send him into hiding and honestly, I'm not comfortable releasing Rose when her abusive husband is on the loose. It's patient negligence. Then there's the small matter of him attacking you as well, so whatever you do I suggest you keep as far from him as possible." He sighed. "I've been checking into his background, but it'll take a while longer for my contact to get anything concrete."

"Criminal activity?" Rachel perked up, starting to feel a little more like herself.

He nodded. "It seems that he's been involved in a little drug trafficking on the side. He's a prime suspect, but they haven't yet issued a warrant."

"If you get me the info then I can definitely charge him. He won't be allowed to remain in the city. It's the new law."

"Good," Crane replied. He was hoping she would say something like that. His plans weren't completely ruined after all.

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_Monday morning, Arkham Asylum_

It had happened again. While she was asleep last night. The painting had changed, it had……painted itself.

Either that or someone was playing a clever trick on her. Impulsively, she thought of Dr. Crane.

He had been very patient with her from the start, always reassuring and positive, but……….

There was something about him, something she could not quite express in a logical, sensible thought. He seemed very…insisting, almost too sure of himself. When she had questioned him about the hypnosis sessions, he had explained in such a way that she felt her refusal meant she would never recover. He always seemed to get his way…but he was trying to help her, she knew.

And this couldn't be him, or anyone else. Dr. Crane had allowed her to keep the canvas in her room, and no one had taken it away since. It was propped in exactly in same position as she had left it Sunday evening, after she discovered the first change. The newly added paint was as dry as the rest she had done herself, and the paints she used took a couple of hours to dry even in warm weather. This much certainly would not have dried during the cold night.

The woman figure she had started was now complete, as was the grey structure that she had originally intended to be a cottage. Last night, when its doorway had appeared, she had decided that she would just create a sunny pavilion out of it. This morning, the pavilion was there, painted for her, but it wasn't the way she had imagined it.

It was dreary and cold, a darker version of what she wanted……but a more accurate representation of her thoughts. Because wasn't that what dominated her thoughts these days?

Bitterness, anger, hatred……revenge…

She shook her head. Why did she think something like _that_?

She sighed and went to her bed. Staring at her wayward painting was starting to give her a headache. She sat for awhile, trying to relax.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with feeling the way she was, she decided after a half hour of gazing at the bland wall. Didn't Dr. Crane say that it was normal, even healthy, for her to feel independent now that she had broken free of her abuse?

Yes, there was nothing bad about those feelings; they were what a regular person felt. And she needed to get used to them, learn how to utilize them and encourage them to stay. The more she expressed herself the better, Dr. Crane had said.

Her mind wandered to Rachel Dawes, the sweet girl that had so patiently listened to her story without a shred of criticism or contempt. She was going to do all she could, she had promised, and Rose believed her. She seemed one of those people who wanted to see justice done. She wasn't afraid of corrupt law enforcers.

_But maybe she should be afraid of Norman………_

Rose shuddered. She hoped no harm came to whoever was brave enough to take on her crazy husband. But whatever happened, she had to rely on herself. She couldn't allow other people to fight what would ultimately be her own battle.

Even as Rose mentally prepared to defend herself when she left Arkham, as the hours past she couldn't help but wonder if she would be successful.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

_Bingo._

He had finally found his rambling Rose.

She was on the low security portion of the suicidal wing, right on level 2. Why, she was just a few steps away from him, really.

So close………

But he had to wait. Already he had pressed his luck with the weirdo who was in charge of Rose and all the other psychos in here. Not that he was afraid of the little dweeb –he could take him out while sleeping- but he had to be careful, or he was likely to blow his cover. His current orderly disguise worked well, and that clueless bitch hadn't even given it a second thought when she agreed to go out with him. She was helping Rose; he was positive of it. When he saw her again on Tuesday he would find out what exactly she was planning for his Rosie ……one way or another.

He had to watch his step even more now. His plan was coming together, and he was _not_ going to let _anything_ get in his way.

He was working an extra shift, thanks to the asylum's lazy orderlies, and tonight he had a little treat for himself.

Just a little something to get him pumped up. He smiled to himself as he arranged the empty plastic cups on the medicine tray.

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_Monday afternoon, District Attorney's office_

Rachel wiped sweat of her mouth and brow for the tenth time and tossed the wet tissue in the wastebasket. It had been a difficult day.

She had barely gotten any sleep last night. Crane had insisted she leave her car at the museum, just as a precaution for the night. He had driven her home and had taken it upon himself to question the people around her building. Apparently, no one fitting Norman's description had been come by recently. After walking her up to her apartment and checking every room –Rachel had not protested any of his actions- he had ordered her in his usual bored tone to call him if anything happened. She had been too stunned to do anything but nod mutely. Then she had gone to bed and spent every minute jumping at the slightest sound.

She had gotten her daily work done under the stress of knowing she had a date with a crazed stalker cop, all because her taste in men turned out to be horrific. She felt she had to compensate for her stupidity, and was working extra hard to ensure Norman Daniels went down. Permanently. She would settle for nothing less. And not because he was to blame for her embarrassing herself in front of Crane.

That was another thing to consider; how she should apologize to Crane for her incompetence and retain some dignity. Every time she pictured the scene, as she had been for the entire day, she felt herself grow warm. She grabbed another tissue and wiped her sweating palms.

She wondered how she would get any sleep that night.

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_Monday evening, Arkham Asylum_

Crane roughly stuck the bandage on his hand, trying to control his anger. People were interfering, and he hated that. They weren't even doing something constructive, as he was. If this continued, he told himself, _someone_ was going to get a dose of some _very_ strong drugs.

Besides overseeing his regular patients and dealing with an ever-increasing amount of paper work, he had to ensure Rose was responding to his therapy in a favourable manner –she was, very nicely- _and_ spend extra time with Jack Napier, who was in maximum security awaiting his trial. A slight distraction on his part had just earned him a sharp bite from Napier's pointed teeth. Before he could stop himself, Crane had punched him in the jaw and then stalked out of the room, leaving the orderlies to deal with the mess. But he wasn't really angry with Napier.

He was angry with Rachel Dawes.

He had never thought about her personal life, didn't care what kind of man attracted her; it was none of his business. However, he would have thought she had better sense, woman's instinct, whatever they called it, than to hook up with a complete stranger.

When he had looked over and seen her flirting with Rose's lunatic husband, he had briefly wondered if he was hallucinating. But it had been real, and she was standing there smiling idiotically while Norman Daniels chatted away. The fact that he knew her meant he was ahead, and that was unacceptable. Also, now that Dawes was involved in this way, his plans had been complicated. He would now need to make allowance for her peskiness……and interfering. The only reason he hadn't given her a good shake was that she seemed too shocked to register its meaning.

He sat down in his chair and stared at the wall. This would end _his_ way. He was going to make sure of it.

He sat thinking about how he could salvage his plans.

It was too bad Dawes was now in Daniels' sights, but she could take care of herself. Besides, he really wanted to get to Rose. Dawes was now involved in what could be some very messy steps as Daniels made his move. But maybe, if he remained alert, he could use that to his advantage. She might even give him some information about Daniels' plans.

And_ that_ was the key factor at the moment; what was Norman planning?

Crane leaned forward and began preparing. Whenever Norman came, he would be ready.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Norman inhaled and let out his breath slowly as he watched Rose.

From the glass of her cell door he could see her on the cot, her back towards him. He could tell from the way she was breathing that she was really asleep. He had always been able to tell when she was faking it. His mind was dark with the games he had planned for her. It would be just the two of them……but not right now. He had to wait just a little longer.

He quickly rolled the cart past the room and went on his way, whistling softly. His shift was almost over. He hoped she had a good night's rest. She didn't have many more left.

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As Rose lay sleeping, right after her husband walked away, something moved in her room.

On the canvas that bore her almost completed picture, small vivid paint strokes began to appear in an orderly fashion. Suddenly, they stopped, revealing the new addition; tiny but distinct claws on the hands of a female figure that stood atop a hill. The hands flexed themselves once, their long nails moving with them, and then everything was still.

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_Monday night, District Attorney's office – 6:35 p.m._

Rachel yawned as she packed her briefcase Maybe she would be able to sleep tonight after all. She snapped off the lights, locked her office door and took the stairs. She had made some progress today, and had succeeded in formulating some sort of a plan for tomorrow. She would help Crane get Rose to safety and ensure that she never had to look over her shoulder again. When she got home she would give Sergeant Gordon a call. The GCPD was corrupt, but a few good people were left and it was smart to have a secure backup. She and Crane could not handle Norman Daniels by themselves.

She said goodnight to the guard at the door and stepped outside. She was starting to feel a bit better. Not much, but at least she was no longer in the dark. She crossed the street and headed for the parking lot.

"Hey, there," a horribly familiar voice called out to her in a cheerful tone.

Rachel turned to see Norman Daniels coming out of a restaurant, a charming smile on his face.

"Fancy meeting you here. I was just getting some dinner." He held up a large brown bag. "How 'bout you and I find a quiet place and share?"

* * *

A/N: Okay, hoped everyone enjoyed that. Things will start to get messy from the next chapter, which will be shorter then the others. I want to draw out the ending to make it exciting, so NO MORE LONG CHAPS!!!! 

Crane will get a nasty surprise in the next chap, as well as Rachel.

Sorry for any errors and please feel free to make suggestions.

Again, thanks for reading & the reviews.

FalconHorror


	7. Chapter 7

_**Arkham Madder**_

Sorry for the delay in posting a new chapter. I'm grateful that so many people seem to like this, and as always, many thanks for reading and reviewing.

**P'tfami, BlossomingGDfreak, mirrorconspiracy, Pierrot Doll, Highland girl 1592, Ms Brooklyn, Quick to See** and **hakuko 123 etc**

Hope everyone enjoys this one.

Disclaimer: Again, only the new stuff is mine.

* * *

_Monday night, outside District Attorney's office – 6:40 p.m._

_Oh my God…_

Rachel felt her skin turn ice cold. Her mind simultaneously froze and screamed at her for what seemed like the longest minutes in history.

"I bet you're hungry," Norman Daniels was saying.

His voice sounded far away yet terrifyingly close. Distantly, she felt her hand push the hair away from her face. Her movements didn't seem to belong to her; it was as if she was on autopilot.

_Run! Run away,_ her mind shrieked. _Scream right now and run. Someone will hear you; you're right in front of work. Do it now!_

But she couldn't. The choking moment of panic eased and she remembered Crane's words. He would get away. They had absolutely nothing on him. And she would only make it worse by acting impulsively. She had to bluff until they had solid evidence.

"Actually, I'm kinda exhausted," she heard herself say. She sighed. "I was just-just going to head home and uh, go to sleep."

_Get a hold of yourself! He'll know you're on to him. He's a cop. He has a nose for fakers._

She forced herself to smile at him. He smiled back, and she was somewhat relieved to see that he remained flirtatious. However, it didn't do much for her nerves. When he casually put his arm around her shoulders, she involuntarily cringed and it took all her power not to pull away. He began to walk and she had no choice but to follow. She kept the smile on her face and took furtive breaths as she tried to think.

"Aww, come on," he said playfully. "I'm sure you'll feel better after you have a bite."

_Bite…Rose said he likes to bite. _

He squeezed her upper arm gently and Rachel clenched her teeth. His breath was uncomfortably close.

_Be calm_, she urged herself. _Get him to talk. Find out what he wants._

"Uh…alright. But I can't stay long. I've got a meeting early tomorrow morning." _Where the hell is he taking me?_ She felt panic rising again in her chest.

"Don't worry, we won't stay long. I'll walk you back to your car after. I saw a nice place right here in the park. It should be empty now."

Rachel's throat tightened and fear washed over her. She fought it desperately.

_Keep calm. Keep him talking. That's what he wants…to find out what you know._

"So…how was your day? You get to see any more of Gotham?" The calmness of her voice gave her a little strength. She laughed as she listened to him answer, but her mind was spinning.

It wouldn't make sense for him to harm her now; at least a couple of people had seen him with her outside the restaurant. That meant he wanted something else. But what? He was smart enough to know that she wouldn't reveal information about her cases.

"So, I thought maybe we'd go there tomorrow," he was saying. "Look, it's right here."

He dropped his hand from her shoulders and Rachel casually slid her hand over her handbag. No, her Taser wasn't there; she'd left it on the table in her living room. She had no real way to defend herself if anything happened. She sat on the bench opposite him and smiled again.

"Coffee?"

He grinned at her, and she saw remembered Rose's words about him being a charmer. He was handsome and seemed likeable. She began to see how Rose could have fallen for his routine.

"No, thanks. I don't want to stay awake tonight."

She rested her hand on her coat……and felt something hard. Her cell phone. And it was on silent mode; the call, message…and keypad tone were automatically turned off as well, if she remembered correctly. She had switched it earlier, needing to concentrate, and had forgotten to change it back. She breathed in relief, and carefully slipped her hand inside the pocket.

Keeping her eyes on Norman as he chatted, she began to feel for the buttons. One by one she pressed them, hoping that she wouldn't accidentally turn on the volume.

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_Monday night, Arkham Asylum_

Crane yawned and shoved the files into his briefcase. He was tired and hungry. He had spent the last couple of hours instructing the asylum's security, changing the rotation of the guards and orderlies and painstakingly checking the basement and back entrances. He wanted to reach his apartment as soon as possible, eat stale pizza and drop into bed. He had a lot to do the next day.

He spotted a few memos and papers that had piled up from the previous week. He was about to reach for the folder, thinking he would read them whilst eating, when his cell phone's message tone rang. He picked it up and unlocked the keys. It was from Dawes. It read:

herewitnorman gcpark

He grabbed his car keys and headed out, his mind quickly formulating a plan.

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_Monday night, Gotham Central Park, West Entrance_

They were sitting at one of the small tables for couples, talking and eating. Norman's side was facing him and he could see Dawes nodding and saying something.

Crane hoped that she was doing her best to uncover something useful; right now he was completely ignorant of the psycho cop's plans for his wife and with him having to baby-sit Dawes, this was getting more complicated by the minute. He had absolutely no idea why Daniels was playing with her. Crane would have liked to lock her up in his basement until the entire thing was over –she had already served her purpose– but that would only put Daniels on alert.

He scanned the area once more, but the park was still deserted except for the three of them. Thankfully, today's rain had kept everyone inside. He winced and scrubbed his neck with his fingers. His jacket was in his office and the mosquitoes were attacking his exposed skin. He shifted his position from behind the bushes and felt his foot sink into a puddle of mud. Dawes spotted him just then. He held up his phone and motioned. He then pressed the call button and waited. A few seconds later he saw her put her phone to her ear.

"_Hi, mom,"_ she answered in a remarkably normal voice.

That was good, he thought. At least she was keeping up pretences.

"Tell him you have an emergency," he told her as he watched Daniels carefully. "Go home. I'll follow him when he leaves you."

There was a pause, in which she nodded and pretended to listen.

"_Oh, okay. I'll be over as soon as I can. Alright. 'Bye."_

He saw Daniels nodding as Dawes said something. They both stood and he began packing up the food. A couple of minutes later Crane followed them from a safe distance. He stayed behind the rows of short trees and flower bushes, hoping no one would spot him. He kept his eyes on Daniels, watching and memorizing his movements. The left the park and Dawes was holding up her hand and saying something. Daniels nodded and Crane saw him mouth 'okay'. Unexpectedly, he then leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Crane raised a brow in amusement and wondered how Dawes was managing to maintain her composure. As Daniels walked away and she turned around, he saw that she looked nauseous and revolted. He waited until Daniels turned the corner before he slipped out and crossed the street. At the last minute he had taken one of the cars from the asylum instead of his own. He had to take all the necessary precautions if he wanted to get ahead.

Just as he started the engine, he glimpsed Dawes leaving the parking lot by her office, looking back to where Daniels had gone. Apparently, her fondness for prying hadn't been damaged from her encounter with Rose's crazed husband. She probably wanted to know what Crane was planning, if it was legal, etc. He quickly got out and waved to get her attention.

_Go home,_ he mouthed. He pointed to her car. She hesitated and Crane repeated the gesture. Reluctantly, she turned and went to her car. He drove off and barely managed to spot Daniels in a car before he turned a corner. It was different from the one he had the previous night. The man knew how to stay hidden. They drove on for about ten minutes, with Crane keeping three cars in between them.

Daniels turned a corner and pulled up against the curb. Crane turned and went the other way. He pulled into the first side street, parked and exited. He cautiously glanced out from behind the wall. He wasn't surprised; Daniels was at a popular hangout for the law-enforcing officers of Gotham. A few uniformed men were standing outside, talking and drinking from cups. One of them waved to Daniels as he went inside.

Crane clenched his jaw and waited. He intended to find out what was going on, one way or another.

He didn't notice the man passing in a car on the other corner.

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_Rachel Dawes' Apartment_

Rachel pulled back the curtains for the hundredth time and sighed nervously. It was almost 10, and she had no clue as to what was happening. She felt as if she were waiting for a giant hammer to come crashing down upon her head; one that she couldn't see. She had already called Arkham twice to check on Rose. The nurse had assured her that Rose was comfortably sleeping, but Rachel couldn't rid herself of the dread that she'd been feeling since Sunday night. She restlessly rubbed her fingers over her cell phone. She had sent Crane three text messages, but had received no reply, and she didn't think it was a good idea to call him.

Mercifully, she had endured until he had shown up. Relief had washed over her and her mind had instantly sharpened. She'd thought she would get out of it relatively unaffected, but then came…the kiss. She hadn't expected it and by some miracle, had smiled at him when she really wanted to gag. Nevertheless, she'd managed to learn a few things. She had resisted the urge to follow Crane, knowing it would be too risky. Back at her apartment, the first thing she did was call Arkham. Then she had taken a long shower, sent Crane a message and called the asylum again. Everything seemed fine. But she knew that it wasn't. She had anxiously dressed in jeans and a sweater, ready to leave if anything should happen.

She was pacing her living room again, her mind racing. She was on the verge of calling Gordon for help; both she and Crane had gotten in way over their heads and it was beginning to get dangerous. What prevented her was Crane's warning about police involvement. When word got out, there would be no guarantee that Rose would ever be completely safe from her lunatic husband. His reputation thus far was squeaky clean. Rachel headed for the kitchen, deciding that she would call Crane after she ate. She didn't care if he was angry; she had earned the right to know what was happening. The doorbell rang and she almost jumped a mile in the air.

"Ms. Dawes."

It was Crane. He didn't sound his usual aloof self, she noticed. She hoped he had good news; her stress level was increasing by the minute. She breathed deeply as she went to the door. She peeked through the eyehole, relaxing only when she glimpsed him looking down the hall.

"Where did yo–" she began as she opened the door, but stopped short when she saw him.

Crane was an absolute mess. His shirt was wrinkled, stained and halfway out of his pants. His hair was disarrayed and littered with bits of leaves and twigs. It seemed as if the mosquitoes had spent some time on his face and neck, and his shoes were covered in mud. Rachel had never seen him so dishevelled. She opened her mouth to ask him what had happened, but thought the better of it as she remembered where he had been in the park.

"Did uh, something happen? Did you find out where he was staying?"

"No. What did he tell you?" He folded his arms and looked at her.

Rachel stared at him for a minute before answering. Something about all this was bothering her, but she couldn't say what.

"Listen…I think we should go the authorities. At least to Sergeant Gordon. What if he has contacts that'll allow him to take Rose? Right in front of us? He'd have reason; she's suicidal and he's her husband."

"I'm dealing with that," he said shortly. "Did he tell you anything?"

"Well…he asked me about my work and I mentioned that I go to Arkham sometimes. He said that he thinks he has family up there and–"

Rachel stepped aside to let him enter as she spoke. Neither of them saw a young woman glancing curiously in their direction as she passed by. When this woman reached downstairs, she entered her boyfriend's car and turned to him.

"Hey, you know that couple that was arguing last night at the party? The D.A.'s asistant and some guy?"

The man looked at her as he drove off. "Yeah. Why?"

"It looks like they made up. He just went into her apartment. Looks filthy, too. Wonder what she sees in him."

"Really?"

The man, a detective working for the GCPD, began to think. Ms. Dawes had been with Dr. Crane from Arkham Asylum. He'dglimpsed the doctor at the club earlier tonight. Hadn't Norman mentioned that one of the perps he was tracking was being kept in the asylum? And that he was having trouble getting her out?

Yeah, he did. Maybe Dr. Crane was getting a little help from his lawyer girlfriend in that area. They probably didn't know they were protecting a baby snatcher. It didn't have to be anything…maybe they were just dating. It wouldn't hurt to tell him. Maybe he could talk to the two of them and come to some kind of an agreement.

He picked up his cell and called his friend to tell him what he'd seen.

* * *

A/N: I know this chap seems long, but it's far shorter than the 4000+ words I've written for previous chaps.

Rose was absent for this one, but she'll be back in the next with a VERY important scene involving her & Crane.

Also, I'm not forgetting that Crane is a villain; you'll see this very soon. I wanted to build his mean side rather than toss everyone into it.

Thanks for reading & keeping up with the fic. Suggestions are welcome.

FH


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